Puppies, Kittens and Gun Toting Babies
by Jedi's Pal
Summary: A series of shipper wish fulfillment AU's for each one of the season finales/season premieres based on Jeffrey Donovan's comment that the audience wants Michael and Fiona to marry and have violent babies and that Matt Nix could completely rewrite the series finale to be puppies, kittens and gun toting babies. In other words, the endings we always wanted for our favorite couple.
1. 701 We'll Always Have Paris

**A/N: **_We would like to thank everyone for their interest and positive feedback on our previous offering, Victims of War. Next up is a series of ultimate shipper wish fulfiments AU's based on Jeffrey Donovan's comments that the fans want our favorite couple to tie the knot and have violent babies. _

_As such, each story changes the prior season finale and offers a new season premiere. In which episode we start changing the previous season is marked for clarity's sake and a new season premiere follows on for our shattered shippers' sanity's sake. This will start with 7.01 and move progressively backwards._

_Much thanks and love to Amanda Hawthorn for reading through and doing the BETA honors and love to Daisy Day and all the wonderful women of Burner fame out there on Twitter and FB. We appreciate all the reads, reviews and comments so very much and hope these stories help us all to get through S7!_

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**PUPPIES, KITTENS & GUN TOTING BABIES**

**7.01 - We'll Always Have Paris**

_An alternate S7 premiere following on from 6.18 – Game Change_

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Going to Milan had been a mistake.

_And not the first one, _she thought sardonically as she sat under the clouds and the bright red canopy of the Castel Café on Avenue de Suffren near the Eiffel Tower. The drinks were over priced, the food and the service spotty and the only real thing it had to recommend it was the crowd and the visibility of the overhang. If she wasn't convinced that the source of her contact was genuine, she would have assumed she was being set up for a hit. Not that she cared much if she had in fact been targeted.

_Not the first time for that, either, _she noted as she picked at her day old croissant, trying vainly to find anything that vaguely resembled an appetite. Her body was in full rebellion. The months she'd spent in prison and on the run, the weeks spent trapped in a secret CIA holding cell, the crushing blow of realizing that he had truly gone this time and the jet lag that accompanied going from EDT to GMT and beyond had left her weak and weary. She slept, she cried, she cried, she slept, she drank massive amounts of water, she cried some more, she slept until her bladder woke her up and forced marched her to the bathroom and then she cried and slept and drank some more with a generous bit of sniffling thrown in for good measure, and then the cylce repeated itself as her days had become a merciful blur.

Telling Dani Pearce to go back home might have been a mistake too, she decided as the immense sorrow threatened to engulf her again. Jesse had accompanied her to Greece, where she had had a reunion of sorts with her family, albeit a few members at a time. The Glenanne clan could hardly go on holiday all at once without attracting attention. It was a time of catching up, consoling and exchanging the bank account numbers necessary for her survival. She was happy that Seamus had come first. Her brother's wife Isabelle was the closest thing to a female friend she had in the world outside of Dani.

That thought struck her as funny and she laughed out loud, the harsh noise sounding very foreign to her own ears. Yes, she had resented Michael's new handler. She had been very fond of Max before he had been murdered and the spy was either being coy or oblivious by not mentioning that Agent Pearce was a woman. In his case, oblivious was probably the right answer. But she appreciated what the woman had done to help get her out of prison and she appreciated everything Kimberly Danielle Pearce had done for her even before that time. Back then, working with Pearce had given her hope that maybe, just maybe, this whole moving in with a reinstated Michael _and _living with his job at the CIA would work.

But hope deferred makes the heart sick and there was nothing worse than the death of a dream.

At least Jesse Porter was getting to live his dream and she was friend enough not to begrudge him that. He had met up with Dani in Greece to escort her back from her exile in Mumbai. But Fiona had politely declined to join them on their trip to Cairo before returning home to the United States. She knew too many people in Cairo and, although Seamus was keen to have her refocus quickly and go back to work, she just couldn't do it. Not only was it too soon, but her traveling companions were a problem for her.

The truth was, she couldn't stand to be around Jesse and Dani together, any more than she could Sam and Elsa. There'd been a reason she had fled their company in Miami. There was only so much giddy mated-pair happiness her stomach could take. As bad as that was, Madeline's anguish had been worse.

The grief and guilt had been a horrific combination and Fi was ashamed to admit that she'd been grateful when Michael's mother had gone to stay with her sister Jill out of state. She'd been equally grateful to have Jesse sitting next to her while she slept almost the entire sixteen hour flight over the Atlantic. He had laid his long limb around her small shoulders and, oddly enough, she had quietly and gratefully accepted the comfort because _she had needed it so damned much._

There was no longer anything vaguely romantic in their interactions now, hadn't been for years. The tall younger man was a brother, as surely as Sean was. It had been Jesse's presence at her side that had allowed her to relax enough to get some serious rest. Still, he and Dani deserved their happiness, so Fi had emphatically told both of them "to get out of her sight" with as much humor as she could muster.

But since then, she'd found herself alone with her memories and her tears and the dreams and the nightmares that invaded her mind whenever she closed her eyes for the briefest second. She rented the little villa in _Milano_ where they had spent two glorious weeks together back… when was it? Eight years ago was it? How had time gotten so fuzzy? It had been a disaster in the long run. Instead of invoking the pleasant memories of a secret rendezvous, she had cried until she'd gotten sick and then she was just ill.

It had gone well at first. She had managed to get into the spirit of things. Sweet reminiscences of him trying to surprise her in the tub, posing as room service with a bottle of champagne until he met the business end of her H&K, that surrounded her whilst Fiona had bathed that first night had made her think this might go well. Memories of eating various delicacies off of one another had flowed around her as she had settled into the bed that night, too. But as soon as sleep claimed her, she was back in Jed's house, on the run and running out of options once more. She knew taking his mom on the run had been worrying Michael, but what had almost happened to Sam had been completely tearing him apart.

It had frightened Fiona too, more than she cared to admit, hence the clinging to one another that night. Since Panama, their opportunities for privacy had been scattered and stress-filled. In seeking comfort, one or the other would initiate an embrace or a kiss and then, like hitting a detonator, that would grow progressively more passionate and desperate until they could barely take the time to pull their clothing away before they were locked in intimacy, the close personal contact as important as the euphoria.

She sniffed hard, trying to stem the flow of water from her red rimmed eyes, dabbing at them with her napkin. Giving the elderly couple at the next table a watery smile, she said, 'allergies' in French and took another sip of her tea, trying not to choke on it. Her second night in Milan she dreamed of what would be their last night together, the combination of the love making followed by a drug lord's assault team attack had been all too evocative of their time together in Ireland, and it had left her a sobbing mess.

Her third night in Milan, she dreamed of them driving the surveillance van containing the motorbike to the hospital while the others had taken the car, giving them a moment alone. She had slid into his lap before letting him exit the van, kissing him frantically which he returned in equal measure. "Take care," she had whispered before watching him walk away. That had been the last time she had seen him.

She had left Milan for Paris the next morning.

Normally thinking about explosions brought a spark to her eye and a song to her heart. But as the plane had climbed above the clouds, it had been all she could do to contain herself as she thought back on sitting behind those rusted barrels beside Mr. Porter watching Riley and her new drug cartel cronies, her assault rifle ready to defend Michael… and Bly…_God help her, how had she come to that?..._where they were hidden away, gathering the evidence that would hopefully set them all free from this madness.

_What was that?_ Jesse had asked as the place where the other pair was hidden had erupted into flames.

_Oh, God… _ripped from her lips as the cartel's guards rushed towards that part of the marina that was just out of their line of sight which was now billowing fire and smoke.

_Fi, no, no, no, you can't. There's too many of them. _

_Let go! _She'd been almost ready to shoot the younger man until he had finally gotten through to her.

_There's too many of them! We gotta figure out what's going on… _His words had pulled her back, but it had been a struggle not to rush the squad of heavily armed men to find out what had just happened.

_If only they had!_ For while they were trying to make a plan, desperately calling Michael and getting no answer, the yacht had exploded in a colossal fireball which had knocked everyone to the ground and left them easy pickings for the government tactical team that swooped in and apprehended both of them.

After she had checked into the hotel in Paris, she had fallen into an fatigued and mercifully dreamless sleep that first night, but had awoken to the bleak reality that she had no idea what she was going to do.

Her senses hadn't dulled so much that she'd missed the fact she'd been under surveillance ever since she'd left Greece. But it didn't surprise her much that _some damned government somewhere_ was tracking her movements. It had been like that since she'd been a teenager. The Irish woman would have wished them all to hell, except she wanted to get away from them, not have them join her there.

Then she'd gotten a contact from a trusted source, instructing her to meet with someone who had what she needed. She smiled faintly and swiped at another tear that refused to remain contained. _Sam Axe, trusted source._ When she had launched a beer bottle at him all those years ago, she would have never put those two phrases together. They had come such a long way since it had been her and Sam and Michael against the world, robbing the rich thieves and giving it back to those who'd been victimized.

_An' pursuing Michael's fecking burn notice, o' course!_

_Congratulations, Michael, _she thought bitterly, toasting him with her dreadful weak tea. _Ya got 'em all. Ya dinnae stop until they war all in tha ground, Cowan, Carla, Card, Riley and fecking Anson Fullerton. _

She swallowed hard against the burn in her throat and willed her eyes to remain clear. _Stay angry, _she counseled. Staying mad at him was the key to not collapsing in a blubbering heap in the public eye.

_Was it worth it, Michael? Does that help you where you are now? Does it help any of us?_ In truth, it _had_ helped the rest of them in the end. But the cost was too high to seem much like a victory. Still, Fi had to admit that she did take a perverse pride in being able to claim Carla and Dead Larry on _her _hit list.

_Bloody frogs, coudnae make a proper cup o' tea ta save thar lives_, she groused, switching back to her native tongue as she stared at the colorful throng before her, Irish, English and French mixing together in her head yet again. She wasn't sure what to expect, but Sam had said she'd know it when she saw it.

Last night had been one of the worst. She might physically have been in the Hotel de Sers on Avenue Pierre with its gracious decor, but her mind and her heart were still trapped in that sterile holding cell.

_She had asked, demanded and pleaded to know where he was, whether he was dead or alive. For weeks they had asked her questions, for hours on end every day, all of which she had answered truthfully over and over, but no one had ever answer her two questions: Where were her friends? Where was Michael?_

And when she finally had gotten her answer, she wished she'd never asked.

_She was sitting at the end of a table at the end of her rope._ _When the door opened and Jason Bly stepped through holding that heavy cardboard folder, she had barked a nasty laugh before jerking on the cuffs._

_The CSS Agent had made quite the show of opening the folder carefully before pulling out several sheets._

"_Again? Is that really the best you've got, Agent Bly?"_

"_I appreciate the irony of situation, Ms Glenanne, I truly do. Please know that when Michael saved my life, he saved all of your lives as well by preserving the evidence that demonstrated Olivia Riley's guilt."_

_He had slid the sheets across the table to her. There'd been something different about him, but she couldn't put her finger on it. His typical sarcasm had been tempered with an almost stoic seriousness._

"_At least you made the effort to get the eye color right this time," she'd snarked as she flipped through the autopsy report. It was the photos that had given her pause. The sedan had clearly been burned from the inside by a device similar to one that she had used herself during her time undercover in the RIRA._

"_Michael," Bly had paused and swallowed. That'd gotten her attention. The CSS agent had always been in control. "Michael pushed me and the evidence out of the car first and then tried to get rid of the…"_

"_Oh, please," she had countered flatly, though her heart had started beating faster. "You want me to believe he sacrificed himself to save you?"_

"_No, Fiona, to save you. To save all of you. If I had died, if the evidence we have on Olivia Riley had gone up in flames, all of your friends would be sitting in a maximum security dark prision right now with no hope of ever seeing the sun and, please believe me when I tell you this, you would have been sharing a black bag flight with Arthur Meyers back to Britain right now if it hadn't been for what Michael did."_

_She'd wanted to believe the counter surveilliance service trained their agents that well in spycraft, but she couldn't quite make herself. She had gone through the reports, the photograhs, the DNA analysis…_

Back at the hotel last night, she hadn't made it to the toilet in time, but at least the bidet had kept her from embarressing herself completely. She had stripped off her sodden clothes and crawled into the shower. She wasn't sure how long she had spent curled up in a ball, rocking and weeping at the bottom of the tub. But she knew the water had gotten cold and that fact made her sob all the more, as she had remembered all the times they had spent making love in that old fashioned, claw-footed tub squeezed in that tiny little bathroom in the loft until the hot water had run out. She squeezed her eyes shut now. Sitting in that tourist trap of a café, she'd had to draw on all her resources to pull herself back together.

"Ya look like ya could use a bit o' good news thar."

The only thing that kept her from drawing her weapon in public and shooting the man who had come up from behind was that she recognized his voice. For one heart stopping second, the Irish lilt had opened up a well spring of possibilities and then, just that fast, they had collapsed into nothing. But curiousity saved her from herself on several counts as she turned to the large, solidly built son of Marcus Dwyer.

"Sit down then, befer someone shoots ya," she offered, indicating the seat next to her. She leaned towards him and spoke soft and low. "Whot ar' ya doing here, Ryan? I thought ya war in New York."

"Aye, we war, but thot nasty business wit' Greyson Miller has made times hard on all o' us," he said, a quiet edge of accusation in his statement. "Pa thought it better if we came back ta Ireland fer a bit."

Being reminded of what the CIA had manipulated her into doing in order to secure her release from prison didn't help her mood any, but she tried not to show it. Fi plastered a weak smile onto her face.

"Whot are ya doin' in Paris then? Holiday?"

"Thar's no holidays in this business, ya know thot," Ryan said with a slight smile of his own. Marcus' eldest was the spitting image of his father and the most trusted of his sons. "I wa' meant ta be meetin' wit' an old friend o' yars when I ran into another old chum from yar past. He asked me ta give ya this."

The younger man slid a burner phone under the tablecloth and into her waiting hands.

"Twas good ta see a friendly face fram home," he said, rising as the cell vibrated silently in her palm, indicating there was a text. "But I've other business ta tend ta and I'm thinking ya have as well."

And with that, the Irishman was gone. She didn't waste any time pulling up the incoming message.

_Greetings from Stockholm_, it read_._

Her breath caught in her throat and her heart almost skipped a beat. _See you in Stockholm_ had been code for _I'm going on a mission and, if I don't come back, I'll see you on the other side._ It meant you were on a suicide mission and you didn't want anyone else following you through death's door. You finished the job or the job finished you, but you did it by yourself. After the devastating death of her dream of being with the only man she had ever truly loved, could she dare allow herself to hope?

_Rose's Garden, _came the next message_._

She was on her feet in an instant; her food and beverage abandoned as she sought out the nearest taxi to take her to the Avenue des Champs-Élysées and the spot where Sean's wife had once told her she'd have liked to build a garden. There were only three people in the world who knew about that. She and Michael McBride had been playing cards with Sean and his wife one evening as Rosanne had talked about the belated honeymoon Sean had taken her on following the birth of Sian, their first child.

As she stood at the curbside, her eyes scanning the crowded streets for an open cab, a limo slowly pulled in front of her and stopped, blocking traffic while the passenger window began its lazy descent.

"This _is_ an unexpected pleasure. It's good to see you again, Fiona."

"Armand…" she almost stammered. "What are—"

"Well, that's a question I should be asking you, I think. I _do_ have a few houses here afterall." The door to the gleaming black stretch sedan was flung open. "Do you need a ride perhaps?"

The phone in her purse was buzzing like an angry hornet, but she couldn't pull it out and look at it at just that moment. She had worked with Armand Andreani on and off for over two decades. If he wanted her dead, he'd had plenty of opportunity to arrange that. For some reason, the French merchant of war had allowed her to walk in and out of his life with no repercussion of any kind, save to her battered soul.

As she slid into the seat he had abandoned the moment before, she wondered what the consequences would be this time. He smiled at her, making no secret of running an appreciative eye over her frame.

"Avenue des Champs-Élysées, je vais vous dire où arrêter," she advised the driver.

"Hmm, I've missed hearing that," Mr. Andreani responded with a nod to the man up front to proceed. "You're beautiful as always, Fiona, though it would seem life has been somewhat unkind of late."

"C'est la vie." She shrugged. "You look well."

He smiled alittle wider at that. "I try, of course. What brings you to Paris? Business, pleasure, both?"

"Business, at the moment," she lied and then put two and two together. "You're meant to have a meeting with Ryan Dwyer, aren't you?"

"As you obviously know the answer, then yes. Marcus Dwyer was quite eager to work with me and quite informative. I understand there was some rather nasty business back in Miami. Prison, international man hunts, rogue agents… Your trip to America doesn't seem to have turned out as you planned. Do you need something more than a ride? You know me—always a friend to those in need."

Yes, she knew him all too well. His help was guaranteed, as were the strings that always came attached.

"You know _me_," she returned with false bravado. "I can handle meself. Permettez-moi de là-bas," she said to the driver, pointing down another block to a spot proximate to L'Arc de Triomphe.

"Fiona, I would never question _your_ skills. However, you might be unaware that certain people with your skill set have been making threats. It might not be safe to take a walk today, particularly here."

"Really? _Sounds like fun_. Maybe I'll send the French government a bill for disarming whatever device I happen to come across." She knew where this was going and she had no intention of playing along. "Laissez-moi sortir," she commanded when the sedan started to drive past her destination.

She saw the driver's eyes in the rear view mirror flick to his employer's, who nodded his assent. "If you're sure there's nothing else I can help you with…?" Armand let the question linger.

"Not today," she assured him as the black limousine pulled slowly alongside the curb. She climbed out of the vehicle and, after she had shut the door, he lowered the window once more.

"Jusqu'à la prochaine fois, mon cheri. If anything should happen, remember I'm just a phone call away."

"Merci and au revoir, Armand." She turned quickly from the car, not even looking back, and pulled the cell from her designer purse. The street was crowded with tourists, motorists, Police Nationale and covert operatives of the National Gendarmerie, all of whom she ignored, pushing past to her endpoint.

She smiled at the string of coded text messages as she scrolled through them. One advising her not to get in the vehicle, the next asking if she was alright, yet another emphasizing the need to arrive quickly at the meeting point, one more reminding her to relax and go with it, no matter what happened.

And then finally….

_Be brave, little angel._

She just let her legs collapse under her, trying to ensure that she would land in a heap and not damage herself too badly when she hit the rusted grate and still have it look convincing. She heard a mechanism engage somewhere off to her left as well as below her feet. What actually happened when she'd fallen towards the pavement was the metal grid she'd been standing upon had swung down and she'd been dropped into the darkness below the street. But two pairs of strong arms reached out to catch her.

As the duo righted her onto her feet and started to release her, the poor light of the service tunnel was simultaneously illuminated by the light of the titanic detonation above them and the shock wave caused them all to momentarily loose their footings. That was when she recognized them, the first man from Greece and then the twosome from Milan. They must have been tailing her since she'd left the US!

As she stamped down on the foot of the one behind, he grunted and shoved her towards his associate, who quickly took advantage of his superior size and enveloped Fiona in a tight grip. While the burly man ignored the blows and kicks that came his way, she struggled until the bite of needle stung her neck and everything went black. As they carried her limp form away, in the street above where the fireball had erupted, waves of panicked civilians and armed forces alike were scattering away from the explosion.

But to the naked eye observing what appeared to be a terrorist bombing on the Avenue des Champs-Élysées, it seemed Fiona Glennane had died the same way that she had lived: in a fiery blaze of glory.


	2. 701 We'll Always Have Paris - Part 2

**A/N: **_We would like to thank everyone for their very positive feedback on the new chapter of our next offering. It is very much appreciated. This is what fan fiction is all about, taking canon and giving the fans what they want believably in that context. We're so glad you are enjoying reading it as much as we are enjoying writing it._

_This is the second part of the new 7.01 premiere. There will be one more chapter and then we will move back to the new 6.01 premiere and continue progressively backwards. Number of chapters will vary by season, but no more than three and no less than one (if we can keep our Muses under control that is~LOL)._

_Much thanks and love to Amanda Hawthorn, Daisy Day and all the wonderful women of Burner fame out there on Twitter and FB. We appreciate all the reads, reviews and comments so very much and hope these stories continue to help us all to get through S7!_

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**PUPPIES, KITTENS & GUN TOTING BABIES**

**7.01 - We'll Always Have Paris - Part 2**

_An alternate S7 premiere following on from 6.18 – Game Change_

_()()()()()()_

Victor Roshenko was normally a patient man, but today was not such a day.

Anton Yelchin had known the man for decades and yet rarely had he seen Victor this agitated, perhaps in the very beginning, when he had first met Magdalene's nephew during their early days in Afghanistan. But in all their time working together in the Motherland, Mr. Roshenko had always been the calm, confident colleague, despite the fact Anton had been older and more experienced.

Conversely, watching the younger man pace the private deck of the French-made Couach 5000 FLY luxury yacht while they waited for the doctor to return, Mr. Roshenko reminded Anton more and more of his aunt. The tall, solidly built blonde had been known wear trenches in the dirt floors of their tents on particularly stressful missions in those days long ago of their first assignments.

It was because of Victor's aunt that Mr. Yelchin was alive today and sitting on such a fine vessel. He owed his life and his prosperity to Magdalene Polzin many times over and, after her death, to her nephew as well. It was a great favor that the dark haired man had asked of him, new identity papers for himself and his new bride, the widow of a high ranking member of the _Unione Corse_.

Noting that Victor was now running his hand through his long black hair as he made the circuit, the older man wondered if perchance his friend was not the reason she was a widow now. It had been quite plain that this man was madly in the love with the woman, no matter how he had tried to hide it when he'd come to Anton's private ducha in the Ukrainian woods to ask for his assistance.

"You are going to wear out this fine decking soon," the son of a Russian colonel and the Afghani translator advised. Chuckling, he added, "Magdalene would have been so proud of you."

That brought Victor's journey to a halt momentarily. He consulted his watch again. "This is taking too long," he accused. "I need answers."

This time, he smiled broadly and offered no comment. When they'd been deep in the underbelly of the City of Lights, awaiting the arrival of his most precious cargo, the man had been equally edgy.

_Of all the spaces that composed the Parisian underground, the canals and reservoirs, crypts and bank vaults, wine cellars and the carriers —the old limestone quarries that fan out in a deep and intricate web, these tunnels were the most secret. Not even the cataphiles knew of their existence._

_It had been very dark in this poorly illuminated port, but that had been the point. His tightly wound companion had gone to great lengths to convince the world he was dead and that his new wife was now so as well. It would be of little use if someone were to see him out in the open at this moment._

_It made Anton smile inside seeing the normally unflappable operative marching in circles on the ancient stone dock next to the boat that would take them through a secret entrance from that unseen waterway that lay under the streets of Paris above onto the River Sienne. He didn't dare smile outwardly where Comrade Roshenko could see him before he knew the mission was done. _

_Victor _had_ actually smiled when Mr. Yelchin had handed him the new documents that would allow Mikhal and Josephine Zolnerowich to board the large transatlantic yacht awaiting them just offshore opposite where the mouth of the Sienne emptied into the ocean. Anton didn't know where the happy couple was going settle once they'd departed from the coast of France, nor did he want to. He suspected it would be the last time he saw his long-time associate or his private yacht._

_And he was fine with that, assuming that Victor didn't kill someone before they got aboard. Anton had begun to worry himself at that point. They needed to be out of the tunnels while it was low tide or they would be trapped there for another twelve hours, far too much time that could result in anxiety induced mayhem._

_So it was probably fortuitous for everyone involved that Mr. Roschenko had just gone back down onto the boat when the two Arabic mercenaries finally had arrived carrying the unconscious woman between them._

"_Give her to me!" he'd hissed, his tone one of barely controlled violence as they had handed their burden down to him on the aft deck and he'd had a look at all the cuts and scrapes. "What did you do to her?" he'd demanded, cradling the insensible form to his chest and seething._

_Mr. Yelchin was fairly certain Victor would have beaten all of them senseless right about then if it hadn't been for the limp load already in his arms. His mood did not improve when Anton informed his associate that she had fought with his men and the pair had administered propofol to aid in her silent transportation through the narrow stone passageways of the underground._

"When is this doctor of yours going to—"

The woman in question answered the query by emerging out of the semi-circular staircase from the lower decks to the second highest deck of the _Magda_, one surrounded by highly polished one-way glass that did not impede the view of the Atlantic, but kept prying eyes from viewing its occupants. The ten member crew owed Anton Yelchin the same loyalty that he owed to Victor.

"Julia Basheer at your service, Mr. Roshenko. Anton has told me much about you."

Victor threw a deathly glare at Mr. Yelchin before turning back to the doctor. "How much?"

"Enough to understand your impatience with those who do not respect your need for privacy and loyalty," she answered him. "Rest assured, Mr. Roshenko, Anton would not have called me if I could not be trusted to handle this matter with competency and discretion."

The younger man's lips disappeared into his full black beard as he bit his lips together and nodded.

"Very well then," the beautiful Arabic woman continued. "Your wife is still unconscious and was having some difficulty breathing due to the aesthetic, but I am administering oxygen and expect she will awaken shortly. Her other injuries are minor cuts and abrasions. However…."

"_However?_" Victor growled, tossing daggers with his intense blue eyes at his long-time asset.

"I wish to speak of this with you privately, Mr. Roshenko. It is a delicate matter."

The dark haired man looked between his two allies, unsure as always who he could trust.

"Do not concern yourself, my friend. I would not have allowed any harm to come to your beloved. I'm sure whatever the good doctor has to say, you will not be displeased."

()()()

"Fiona, Fi? I'm sorry… I'm so sorry…"

_Yer always sorry fer sommit…stop apologizin' _

"I didn't know…Fiona, I'm sorry, I didn't know…"

_Dinnae I jus' tell ya ta stop apologizin' already…?._

"Fi, can you hear me? Can you open your eyes?"

_I hear ya fine, am tired… lemme alone…._

"Fiona, please, just open your eyes…please?"

_If I open me eyes, will ya shut it? Yer not real, not here… lemme sleep… am tired… so damned tired…._

Warmth surrounded her face… warm rough hands and the warm breath of someone too close to her personal space boundaries. Then something moist but also scratchy pressed against her forehead. Was she back in Ireland? The voice pleading with her didn't sound Irish. Had Sean hired someone to...

Everything was a blur…there was a mass of long, curly jet black hair and a full beard that framed dark, deeply tanned features. As the face slowly came into focus, she realized that whoever had clearly been somewhere very dry… That someone moved toward her again and this time laid claim to her lips, gently pressing against them in a chaste kiss... well almost, but not quite.

She moaned and closed her eyes tightly. The hands slid away from her face and pressed against various parts of her form. The touch was pleasant and assessing injuries, not intending to harm… It reminded her of the way she had checked over Michael's bruised and battered body at that cheap motel room way back when….

"Are you in pain?" A hand lingered over her abdomen, carressing not probing, while another sought out one of her small and frail looking ones, applying only a slight amount of pressure.

_Are ya joking?_ Her head was pounding and her throat was raw. The back of her neck was sore and she knew she'd been roughed up, albeit by someone trying not to hurt her and failing. She opened her all too heavy eyelids with an effort. There was a pair of familiar blue eyes staring back at her amidst all the hair and whiskers, bright with unshod tears, and below them a tight white toothy smile.

It took all her concentration, but she managed to make a fist and send it in the general direction of his jaw. Luckily for him, she had telegraphed her intention well in advance of her attack and he dodged it. He didn't wait for a second swing. He scooted up the wide bed and pulled her up into his arms, wrapping her now trembling torso into a tight embrace, cradling the back of her head with one hand and nestling it in between his shoulder and his chin. Her arms were pinned and she let them lie lifeless at her sides. _This man holding her, he couldn't really be there, could he?._

"Ya bastid…" was all she got out before all the fight went out of her in a shaky exhalation of breath and the omnipresent water works began to flow once more. She thought absently about how odd the scrape of his facial hair felt against her skin as she drew in another lungful of air with a huge sniffle. The man embracing was thinner than she remembered, his muscles harder, too.

"I am, aren't I?" he agreed as he held her close, pressing tiny kisses to the top of her head as she soaked his shirt with salt water. "It's alright. Ya go on then and have a good cry," came the instructions in the lyrical intonations of Michael McBride's voice. "It's all over now. Yer safe now. Ya both are. I promise."

She didn't question where he'd been or what he'd been doing. She didn't ask what he meant by both. She didn't ask when he'd be leaving again or for how long he'd be gone this time. She didn't do anything but let that well spring of grief, stress and pain, decades in the making, burst open and flow forth. She been trying to hold it in, trying to keep it together, and failing miserably. So she decided to just let it out. He felt real, _this felt real_, and, if she was dreaming, then _damn anyone_ who'd tried to wake her up.

At some point, he joined her, his own shaking taking up where hers finally had ceased, his own silent sobs leaving tracks on her forehead and cheeks, her own arms wrapping around his waist and then his back. He held onto her as if his life depended on it, because that's what it all came down to – his life dependent on her, unable and unwilling to let her go. Fiona could feel it in his trembling, his unspoken sorrows, in his own hot tears mingling with hers.

_Could she, dare she let herself believe it?_

"It's over now," he whispered hoarsely against her hair. "No one is going to hurt you, I promise."

"Not even you?" She felt him flinch as she said it, but she had to know. "How long will you be—"

"Forever," he declared, his a voice a little stronger now. "Just like I promised you in Panama."

Her silence was her answer. She didn't dare hope… It would kill her to find him, after she thought she had lost him forever, only to lose him again. She felt nauseous just thinking about it.

"Fiona, look at me," he instructed, tilting his head and her chin so they had to make eye contact. "You said that morning on the beach that all you wanted was to be by my side," he swallowed thickly, still feeling the remembered sorrow from that morning over his brother's death. "In Panama, you said that you wanted it to be just us, the way it used to be, and then I promised I would get out, get out of—"

"All of it," she finished for him. "But after Grey, it was Card. And after Card, it was Riley. And then Bly—" her tone had grown progressively more despondent until she said that once hated name. "Bly said you died… but I didn't believe him. He tried to tell me you were dead once before… after the consulate bombing. He said you _died to save him and _ _the evidence. _Then I saw the photos, I-"

She choked back a sob, remembering the terrible moment when she had finally thought him gone, no miraculous escapes, no last minute reprieves, and _she had died inside_. His grip on her, which had loosened as they were speaking, became almost vise-like as he hugged her to his chest, seemingly also as much in need of the comfort as she was.

"I am _so_ sorry for putting you through that," he croaked. "I never wanted that for you, _never_ . I only did what I had to do to—"

"_Don't ever say that to me again_," she snarled suddenly, struggling in his grasp. "Don't you dare!"

"Fi?" She couldn't believe he was honestly perplexed by her reaction. He reluctantly relinquished his hold on her, running his palms down her arms until he only held onto her hands. She wavered, fighting to remain sitting on her own and utterly determined to do so, the fury fueling her body was the only thing giving her the strength carry on.

"You _had_ to find the people that burned you, you _had_ to get back in with the CIA, you did what Anson said you _had_ to do until I _had_ to go to prison to stop you. You _had_ to work with those bastards to find the people who killed Nate and it was _those bastards_ who'd ordered it! I'll knock yar fecking teeth down yar bloody throat, ya ever say those words ta me again, ya bastid!" Her brogue thickened as her anger rose. "D'ya hear me? Do ya have any idea whot I've been through?"

"Yes, I know," he confessed, holding onto her hands, knowing what was probably coming next.

"Ya war _watching_ me?! " she hissed, her temper flaring white hot. "Ya let me think ya war dead-"

As he'd predicted, she tried to pull away and attack, but he caught her wrists and refused to let go.

"I did it because y_ou were right!"_ he shouted her down. "_You were right_, _it was never going to end._ After Card, after Riley, there would have been someone else, there was always going to be someone else who wanted to _use me_ for their pawn, who wanted to _use you_ to hurt me, to control me. You were right and that's why I did it, Fi. That's why I let you think I was dead because the _whole world needs to think I'm dead_ if it's ever going to be over! "

He took a risk and dropped those deadly hands and grasped her face between his own large calloused fingers once more. "I had to make sure Bly was on my side, that he had all the evidence he needed to clear up this mess without me. I promised Sam I would make this right for him and I did. But to make it right for you, to give you want you wanted, to get out, all the way out, I had to die. So I convinced Bly that I had saved his life and, in exchange for that, that he had to let me go."

His intense stare bored into her bloodshot weary eyes, which suddenly lit with understanding.

"You set up him, " she whispered.

"Yes," he agreed. "You wanted a life free from government manipulation. I had to convince Bly not only that he owed me his life, but that the only way to make sure his case against Riley stuck was to have dead hero to offer up for the cause. An eye for an eye for the death of Card and a new bad guy to take the blame, all in a neat folder that could be sealed away and life at the Agency goes on."

Her ever shifting moods of late changed again, morphing from wrath to burning curiosity.

"Michael, what happened? We saw the car go up and but then the boat blew up…."

"I put an end to it, _all_ of it. I wasn't going to leave a psychotic CIA agent and a Mexican drug lord behind who'd already tried to kill my family. Dead men tell no tales, but the trail of evidence does. I even used one of our signature devices from the RIRA campaign. I was hoping you'd catch on, but it was almost too much of hint." He leaned forward and rested his forehead against hers.

"I made you a promise that things would change and I wasn't going to break that promise. But to do that, I had to hurt you, so that I don't have to hurt you, don't have to leave you ever again."

This time, Fiona buried herself in his embrace. He had done all that for her. She had lost everything for him, her family, her home, her possessions, her freedom, her sanity… But he had finally chosen her over everything, over his job, over his friends, over his old life, absolutely everything.

It was the grand gesture to end all grand gestures.

And it was almost more than she could bear. She felt such a rush of adrenaline, such a mass of conflicting emotions, loss, relief, joy, fear, anticipation that she almost fainted and she was dimly aware of the panic stiffening his limbs as she sagged against him, her breath coming in short gasps.

He eased her back down onto the bed and put an oxygen mask back over her face. It was then she finally took in the rest of her surroundings beyond the tanned and hirsute version of her lover. It wasn't just a room, it was a state room. The sounds and the motions, which had previously been in the background, suddenly came to the fore. They were on a yacht, a large one if she'd had to guess, and she was in a cabin that had been converted into a sick bay. She wondered absently how many other people were on board… how many other people knew…

"Michael, your motber…. "

"I know, Fi. But I promised it was going to be just you and me, just liked you asked. I'm sorry, but I can't risk letting anyone else know. I've already taken one more person aboard than I'd planned."

She stared at him blankly, which seemed to amuse him. His lips broken into an irrepressible grin until he was beaming at her. "You don't know?"

She continued to treat him to a bewildered look while she tried to puzzle out what he could be talking about. "Do you feel better now?" he asked, reaching for the clear plastic covering her face.

As she nodded her assent, he removed the device and lovingly stroked her cheek. "You really don't know, do you?" he queried again as his other hand slid from his lap and came to rest protectively over her abdomen. "Me darlin' girl, ya thought ya wa' jus' sick wit' grief fer tha likes o' me, did ya?"

"_It's all over now. Yer safe now. Ya both are. I promise."_

As his words came back to him, she gasped. All the sickness and the misery and the exhaustion … it all made sense now. It wasn't just the anguish of thinking she had lost him… it was _so much more_…

"How did _you _know?" she pressed him, completely perplexed, but suddenly very glad she was already lying down as this impossibility tried to turn into reality in her head. Could it really be true?

He was good, one of the best, but if she didn't realize what was going on, how could he possibly have figured it out…?

"Besides noticing you were putting on weight in all the right places from afar," he smirked, moving the digits lingering on her cheekbone to trace down her body, skimming the outside of her breast on their way to the curve of her hip where they settled. "Well, I admit I didn't put that together right away. It was when I helped the doctor get you into some more comfortable clothes that I got it."

It was then Fiona realized that she was wearing a loose sleeveless white cotton top, a thigh length skirt of matching material and no under garments. She wasn't sure how she felt about have Michael and a stranger undress her, but she waited for his explanation without comment.

"The ship's doctor examined you before we left port. I was worried about how sick you'd been and didn't want to find out it was something more serious in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean." His voice and his eyes took on a hard edge then. "They'd used propofal on you in back in Paris, so I was concerned about that, too. You wouldn't wake up…" She could tell by the heat in his voice that whoever had done that to her had gotten just short of grievous bodily harm as a reward.

He gathered her two smaller hands and placed them over her stomach and then covered them with his two larger ones. "You don't know how hard it was, seeing you hurting like that, not being able to tell—"

"_Really_, Michael?"

He broke into that killer smile that had charmed women the world over, most especially her in a dingy bar in Belfast one night oh so long ago.

"I nearly had a heart attack when Armand showed up. I didn't know what I was going to do if you didn't make it on time to the spot where I had my terrorist attack scheduled. You were supposed to go with Dani and Jesse to Egypt, you know. I was going to take you back to that safe house, the one in Cairo where we _reconnected_." He was grinning ear to ear now.

"They don't know, do they?" As she said it, she realized who was the only one who did know: _Sam._

"They were _supposed_ to get you to Cairo, but they were on _a need to know_ basis, and, yea, they don't know. So I'm guessing they didn't insist when you decided to go off to Milan on your own." She could heard the fear underlying the humorous exasperation on the surface. "And then I had to get creative in Paris as well as getting our new identities taken care of, Mrs. Josephine Zolnerowich."

She turned her hands over in his, using him to pull herself back up into a sitting position. She examined the passports he held out for her inspection, but then reached for him. They wrapped their arms around one another as he dropped the documents onto the bed and she laid her ear to his chest, centering herself on his heart beat, so familiar and steadfast in this brave new world she had suddenly found herself in. The final proof that he meant it was laying behind on the mattress.

"So, can you forgive me for hurting you one last time?"

She didn't answer with words at first. She met his sincere gaze and then kissed him, long and slow, feeling the brush of his new beard against her face and reveling in it. She let her feelings build up along with with the intensity of their kiss before she had the courage to say the words first.

"Yes, because I love you, Michael," she told him, staring him directly in the eyes. "Love you, Mikhal."

The look on his face said it all, but this time he did more than let his expression do the talking.

"I need you, Fi. I always have," he smiled at the pout starting to form before he added. "More importantly, _I love ya_, _me darlin' girl. More than all tha gold at tha end o' tha rainbow." _


	3. 701 We'll Always Have Paris - Part 3

**A/N:** _We would like to say thank you everyone for their enthusiasm for the new chapters of our latest offering. It is very much appreciated. We're so glad you are enjoying reading it as much as we are enjoying writing it._

_This is the final part of the new 7.01 premiere. Next Monday, we will move back to the new 6.01 premiere (This is My Island in the Sun) and continue progressively backwards. _

_There will be a bonus chapter on the M page tomorrow under the title Reconnecting because there is not enough love and "reconnecting" going on between our favorite couple right now! One bonus chapter per each final chapter of new season premier will be posted on Tuesdays._

_Much thanks and love to Amanda Hawthorn, Daisy Day and all the wonderful women of Burner fame out there on Twitter and FB. We appreciate all the reads, reviews and comments so very much and hope these stories continue to help us all to get through S7!_

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**PUPPIES, KITTENS & GUN TOTING BABIES**

**7.01 - We'll Always Have Paris - Part 3**

_An alternate S7 premiere following on from 6.18 – Game Change_

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_Conde, Paraíba, Brazil 2031_

Miguel Cruz was a man acquainted with sadness. As he sat atop the hill, looking down on the white block and red clay barrel tile roofed manor house of the 12 acre farm he'd managed for an absentee foreign owner for the last twelve years, he could not stop the tear that rolled down his cheek. Ma had been his constant companion and, though he knew his wife would understand, he himself was having a hard time wrapping his head around the fact that he had been crying for an animal.

He had rescued the trio of Geoffroy's Cat kittens, whose mother had only been defending her young from their pair of Belgium shepherds, who in turn had been defending his youngest child at the time, who had just wanted to pet the kitties. Needless to say, everyone involved, especially four year old Amanda, had felt terrible about the entire misunderstanding. Since his wife Fernanda had been heavily pregnant at the time and the dogs were particularly hyper protective, he had taken the three wild feline babies to care for in his work shop, where he repaired old cars for his friends, build things as he needed them and managed his hidden stores of things that might prove useful one day.

During the day, he took carried them with him to work at his body shop in the small town of Conde, where he repaired and retro fitted the poorly made new cars that the Brazilian auto industry cranked out for various customers. One kitten had not survived the first week and the other male had disappeared into the woods one night when it was nine weeks old, assumedly to live out it life in the wild as nature had intended.

The last of the litter however had survived, thrived and latched onto Miguel with a loyalty virtually never seen in a pure bred Geoffroy's Cat. Since the feline had had no patience for anyone but the man of the house and, strangely enough, his mother, who had moved in with them along with her grandson Carlos the year before, Mr. Cruz had been forced to purchase a pair of Safari kittens, a crossbreed of that wild cat with a domestic cat that had been around since late 1977, so that children could have their own kittens to play with. The two Safari's grew into twenty pound balls of fur, affection, energy and cleverness. They kept everyone occupied and even the dogs liked them better.

By a strange coincidence, the exotic animal exporter who had been illegally selling not only the crossbreds but a number of native South American cats had mysteriously lost his entire stock and business in a fire later that year. Unhappy accidents often befell those up to no good around Conde.

Miguel Cruz was acquainted with sadness because he had known its corollary, happiness. So, when there was a parting, he could look back with bittersweet memories of happier times. Somehow, the jungle cat had taken on the name of the only other person in the household the animal tolerated. Maybe it was because he'd called his mother "Ma" enough times in the mouser's presence that she'd just decided it was her name, too. _Females and felines have too much in common,_ he thought.

The dark haired man absently patted the mound of earth underneath which his pet lay, yes, he could now admit that he'd had a pet, and looked over at his mother's grave. She had died a year earlier from congestive heart failure, which she had written off as the flu until it was too late. He laughed lightly at the irony, a shaky sound, remembering the spiky blonde hypochondriac that had greeted him during his exile to Miami who would not have missed an opportunity to claim an actual illness.

As a young man, Michael Westen had been a man of few emotions and most of them dark. He had known anguish, bitterness, rage, betrayal, and he had known relief from those emotions. As such, it had been almost natural for him to slip into the Eastern Europe cover ID's of his early career. Victor Roshenko, Magdalene's nephew, had been one of his oldest covers still intact amongst the Russians.

But now Victor had passed into history and vanished, as surely as Anton Yelchin's massive yacht had disappeared into the distance whilst they watched from the beach of that small unknown island in the Caribbean Sea on which they had been deposited. The next day, an unmarked vessel full of Irish gun runners had picked them up and deposited them at the Port of Buenos Aires, where Mikhal and Josephina Zolnerowich vanished into the Russian immigrant population of the capital. As far as anyone else knew, they had arrived with the last wave fleeing the motherland in the early 1990's.

When their daughter, Alexandra Gabrielle Zolnerowich, had been born six months later with some complications, Mikhal had known a fear and a joy so fierce that they only thing he had to compare it to was the highs and the lows of his time in Ireland pretending to be Michael McBride. His feelings, though he could now put a name to them after all this time, had been just as difficult to deal with then as they had been when he was falling madly in love with his asset, Fiona Glenanne.

"_Mic-hael? Is she-?"_

_They had taken the baby by an emergency C-section and had totally sedated his wife in their haste to get the baby out before the umbilical cord could finish choking her. So when his "French born" spouse had come out of the anaesthesia speaking English instead of her alleged native tongue, it could've have been a problem had anyone else been paying attention. But all their focus had been on the new-born, for which he'd been grateful. He knew their decision to avoid hospitals had been wise one in the past, but there had been no line when it came to his wife and child on that day._

_When they had handed him that tiny warm bundle with the blue tinged skin and the unfocused eyes, he had a moment of panic unlike any he'd experienced in his forty six years on the planet, but that had vanished in the wake of the utter relief that had flood through him when those little eyes had latched onto his and that small mouth had formed a perfect "O" and the tears flowed unbidden._

_As he knelt down near the gurney to which his groggy lover was still strapped, the watery smile on his face matching her own when he held their new daughter up for her inspection. Fifi's eyes were almost as unfocused as their little one's as she fought the chemicals in her blood stream. _

"_You were so brave, my little angels," he murmured in Irish too low for anyone else to hear and then kissed them both on the forehead. "You are a fighter, like your mother; you will never give up."_

A warm breeze ruffled the treetops as well as his hair, which still had retained its blackness after all these years. He smiled at that thought and how often his wife had remarked on his and her fortune. Those first years had flown by so fast. After three years of giddiness over their new life and the new life in it and the dread that something from their old life might return to haunt them, the young immigrant family had sailed out of the Port of Buenos Aires never to be seen or heard of again.

_Complications late in Fifi's unexpected pregnancy with their second child had prompted a stay at a private undisclosed island off the coast of Brazil, where once again Josephine had found herself under the now constant care of Dr. Julia Basheer, with the occasional visit from various former members of an Irish terrorist group, while her husband divided his attention between his two favorite girls, one of which had not yet been born, and their beloved mother. It had been another change of scenery that had brought on conflicting emotions, tension, anticipation, contentment._

"_There you are, Papa,"_ Amanda said in her flawless Portuguese, breaking into his reverie. She had inherited his looks, a female version of himself, but she had gotten her mother's ability to sneak up him. She knelt behind him on the soft soil and wrapped her arms around her father's shoulders and kissed him on the cheek. _"You miss both of them today."_ It was a statement, not a question.

Ma the wild cat had died almost to the day of the one year anniversary of the death of Ma "Cruz."

But as he covered his second child's hands with his own larger ones, he wasn't thinking about what he had lost. He was thinking about the day the teenager with the long black mane had been born.

_They'd been sitting on the beach enjoying the sunshine while their first daughter, a tiny clone of her mother, had attempted to unsuccessfully to herd the border collie who lived on the island and rather had been escorted herself back from the pull of the tide again and again. Gabrielle's determination and her maternal pout had made them both smile. Fifi had been sitting between his legs, leaning into his chest with a rolled up beach blanket resting against his stomach and her lower back. _

_He'd had his hands splayed over her lower abdomen, feeling the movements of their due-soon-to-join-them offspring, and had been peppering her hair, ears and shoulders with tiny kisses._

"_Je suis désolé," she'd said sadly._

"_Why are you sorry?" he'd queried in Russian. _

_She'd let her head fall back against his shoulder and sighed. "For putting you through all this," she'd answered in Argentinian Spanish this time. "I know we didn't plan to—"_

"_Shhhh, there's a lot of things we haven't planned that turned out just fine," he'd assured her, her accent always better than his with the Latino languages. "I'm just glad you didn't believe me."_

_And in his mind's eye, they were sitting side by side on another beach and he had been so hurt and so afraid for her. The man he had been, Michael Westen, wanted to push her away again for her own protection, but he had needed her so much. He'd wondered then what would have happened if she's agreed with him about deserving better than him and the life he'd been living._

"_All I want is to be by your side. I'm not leaving it again," she had declared in English in his memory before Fifi had groaned and let out a French epithet, followed by a quieter Irish one, as she squirmed in his arms for a very long moment in the present. "I think it's time to go in," she'd declared and he had concurred as the red wetness had already spread onto his own trousers as well._

_Mikhal had been reluctant to leave his love's side to assist the good doctor with his daughter's birth, but Julia had been short on available hands at the time. So instead of standing by his wife's head, holding her hand and coaching her on her breathing, he had been ordered to come to Dr. Basheer's aid in bringing the baby girl safely into the world. It was the single most terrifying and rewarding thing he had ever done in a lifetime filled with blood freezing occurrences and completed missions._

_Another few weeks on the island to ensure his beloved Fifi's recovery was complete and then Juan César Benítez Amodeo and his wife Natalia Marisa Ortego Iglesias arrived in Uruguay, sailing in through the Port of Montevideo where Juan had a job as mechanic waiting for him and Natalia planned on staying home to care for the three year old Gabriella and the new-born Amanda. _

"Onde você está?" his daughter asked in her musical accent, drawing him out of his memories again. After learning Spanish, which had proved something of a challenge for him, learning Portuguese had been comparatively easy, especially as he had such a good teacher with such a talented tongue.

"_I was thinking what a beautiful baby you were, so quiet and so serious, and so not like your sister."_

Amanda laughed at that. _"I'm going to tell her you said that when she gets back from the farm."_

"_I think she already knows."_

Her older sister was a "mini me" of their mother if every such a being existed. Head strong, sharp, with a temper to match her coloring, Gabrielle Cruz was the epitome of who Fiona Glenanne had once been. It was all her cousin Carlos could do to keep up with her, even if he was three years older; only someone that head strong could parlay a visit to an eco-farm to study argo-foresty into not just a successful, self-sustaining agricultural enterprise, but a popular eco-tourist spot as well.

Miguel was not thrilled with the influx of outsiders to the nearby farm, but the type of person that Gabrielle's vacation offering tended to attract was not the type he typically concerned himself with.

"_Mama said for you to quit moping and come to lunch. Gaby and Carlos have muchos touristas to entertain today. They won't be back before breakfast tomorrow."_

Which didn't really present a problem to him as both his daughter and his nephew were well armed and well acquainted with the use of those weapons. The eco-farm was not only self sustaining, but self defending as well. Besides, he was more concerned about the younger two's plans for the future, simultaneously apologetic and worried, if the truth be told. Michael Westen had been dead for almost twenty years now, but that didn't stop Miguel Cruz from being concerned about any number of people who might recognize his son and even more so his daughter's resemblance to that famous former spy should either of them venture outside of Brazil, if they desired to do so someday soon.

"_Moping?"_ he chuckled as he slowly got to his feet, now remembering all the times Sam Axe had complained about being too old for their various adventures. _"Your Papa does not mope, my girl."_

"_Avó said otherwise,"_ the teen corrected with a wide show of white teeth.

"_Your avó talked too much,"_ he groused good-naturedly, casting a glance back at her marker stone before turning his gaze towards the trail that wandered down to the house. Having walked it so many times, his strict attention wasn't necessary and the mention of his mother's tendency to overshare had him reliving one of the rare times Madeline Westen had been stunned speechless.

"_Race you,"_ Amanda called and took off before he'd taken a step. She had long ago disappeared in the house by the time he had arrived on the back porch near the pool, settling onto the patio chair with a low groan and removing his boots, fully engaged in that bittersweet remembrance.

_Charlie Westen had had the misfortune of being born into a family of addictive personalities. How they all chose to deal with it, or not, was another matter. His father had become hooked at a young age on gambling, booze and later drugs after his older brother had left. Ruth had taken the boy in hopes a change of scenery to a place that didn't include loan sharks, drunks, fences and various other low lifes hanging around would be helpful. Unfortunately, she didn't go far or fast enough._

_Getting a coded message from Sam Axe after seven years of silence had put him on high alert and had momentarily left him queasy during a time he was already on edge. His wife's pregnancies brought him much happiness, something that had stunned him the first time. But they also filled him with dread, knowing that the births were difficult for her and the children and there was nothing he could do about that. It was the best and the worst surveillance detail he had ever been on. For a couple who hadn't planned any of their progeny, they were now on their way to their third child._

_Ruth Westen had died in car accident, trapped in the burning car as it had exploded on impact. But whether it was truly a mishap, a leftover from her ex-husband's former dealings or a feint meant to test if Michael Westen was truly dead, the former Navy SEAL decided that the evidence for any one conclusion was not clear enough to take the risk and Madeline and Charlie soon met with similar "end." Official police records ruled it an accident with a gas range that had burned the house down._

_Charlie found the clandestine trip a great adventure, but Sam had been ready to push Maddie overboard by the time they had arrived offshore of that infamous unmarked island in the edges of the Caribbean Sea. So there was no small amount of delight on Mr. Axe's face when the stranger who'd climbed aboard their boat in full scuba gear pulled off the mask and mouthpiece and uttered:_

"_Hi, Mom." _

_Suddenly, the woman who couldn't stop talking all at once had nothing whatsoever to say. Then she fainted, much to the distress of everyone involved._

Miguel had to smile at that as he banged the dirt from his soles and set his leather work boots beside the chair. Even unconscious, his mother could still make a scene.

_But when she had finally awoken, the picture swapping party had been in full swing. Michael Westen had been filled with the first full-on bout of home sicknesses he'd ever encountered in over a decade. He hadn't cried in Sam's presence since that awful day in Chechnya and that miserable moment when he had nearly pulled the older man through the window of the Charger and cheerfully beat the crap out of him for letting Fiona turn herself in. But this was a happy moment for both men._

_There was almost a waterworks which neither would have ever lived down had anyone other than Charlie been there to witness it. They were both choked up until Nate's son had reminded them that _guys don't cry._ The same did not apply to Sam and Fiona apparently when the slightly green but determined woman emerged from the hold of the yacht and announced Madeline was going to be fine, having been treated to her own personal homecoming cum interrogation by Michael's mother._

"_Tinkerbell" was he managed to get out before he was punched in the arm forcefully enough to leave a bruise for letting her think Michael was dead and then he had enclosed her in a tight bear hug, cheerfully ignoring all the sea water that was soaking into his Tommy Bahamas' finest off of her wet suit. With a watery laugh and a shaky salute of a beer, pictures of Sam's grandchildren, Evan's daughters Kate and June, as well as his and Elsa's son, Sam Axe Jr. were pulled up on the I-phone. Next, Jesse and Dani's twins, Noelle and Nicole, were admired and cooed over and an appropriately cryptic recorded message from the Porters let them know that everything was safe._

_It had been as fine a homecoming as he could ask for and more than he deserved. He'd felt guilty that Ruth Westen had had to die in order for them to take the risk of being in one another's presence._

It was hard to say what had been the better gift, the private reunion in the middle of ocean or their new start in Brazil courtesy of a shell corporation so deep the connection to the Dearborn's would never see the light of day. _ Plus, _he would be forever grateful that there was a caretakers' house on the 12 acre property in addition to the main house when they arrived at the estate up in the rolling green hills near Conde. He could tell by the way _Fernada's_ eyes lit up, despite the difficulty the trip had been for her, that living on a farm again, her childhood home that had become her retirement dream, had made her as happy as he'd seen her when she was playing with high explosives.

Almost as happy as the time she had nearly depleted her stock of C-4 convincing a drug lord that God was frowning on his attempt to use the nearby Catholic orphanage as a new distribution center.

"_Your lunch is getting cold,"_ a familiar voice chided, her perfume filling his senses as the woman he loved more than ever dropped into his lap. _"I swear, Anne and Glenn are going to figure out how to open that oven next. Those two fur balls popped the latch and raided the pantry this morning! "_

Miguel smiled up at her, that killer smile that could melt her resolve or set her on fire in an instant after all these years, and then shrugged_. "You were the one who insisted on getting the Safari kittens for the kids. Not my fault they're that agile and smart."_

"_And you're still a smart ass, aren't you?"_ she smirked, leaning in and kissing him long and slow.

"_Stop that!"_ their preteen son demanded, skidding to a halt with her H&K in one hand and its clip in the other, the dogs hot on his heels. _"I field stripped it, cleaned it and reassembled in less than-"_

"_Elias Donovan Cruz, what is the rule about removing a weapon from the armory?"_ his mother snapped. _"Do I need to tell you again? How long would you like to be grounded for this time?"_

Behind his irritated wife, Miguel winked at his son and silently mouthed, _"Good job."_

The dark haired boy, an improbable mix of his parent's DNA, grinned back and flew back into the house, taking the two barking canines with him.

"_Sean, Liam, shut it!"_ she hollered after the dogs. _"Elias, get cleaned up for lunch!"_ She turned in her husband's lap and thumped him on the back of the head. "_Don't encourage him."_

"_Got to,_" he disagreed with another smile and then laughed. _"I think you like telling your brothers what to do too much, even if they're wearing fur coats."_

"_Stop changing the subject,"_ she ordered. _"You would have never allowed the girls to get away with that and don't you dare give me that boys will be boys shite because I've heard that load of—"_

He wasn't indulging his son because he was his son or because he was the youngest of the three or even because he'd had a more traumatic birth than his sisters. He did it because Elias had died, but God had given the boy back to him and there was nothing Miguel wouldn't do to see him happy.

_There had been no time for the planned trip to the island for the family for the birth of their third child. The boy who would be named after his paternal grandmother and brother had showed up a month early. They hadn't gotten any farther into civilization than orphanage up the road sponsored by Matriz Nossa Senhora de Lourdes when the baby decided he wasn't going to wait any longer._

_With all the sisters praying down the walls of heaven and a travelling Peace Corps medic to assist him in the little room they used for a infirmary, Miguel had brought his son into the world, only to apparently lose him a mere moments later. But Michael Westen had always refused to not see a solution to a problem and Miguel Cruz had taken his petition directly to the source, as he'd breathed life back into his son's blood smattered little body, as he had not been able to do for his younger brother. Cries of sorrow had turned to cries of rejoicing this time and he was so thankful. _

"_I'm happy to see you're not moping anymore,"_ she returned, ignoring his gibe and lifting a hand to skim over his cheek and thick beard that was shot through with tiny slivers of silver, redirecting his attention to the present. His smile widened as he thought about the young man on the edge of adolescence, his face, his eyes, her build, her coloring, their temperament. Life was good after all.

_"How can I?"_ he chuckled. _"I've a home filled with puppies, kittens and gun toting babies. I have everything I never knew I wanted and the one thing I've always wanted, even when I was too pig headed to see what was right in front of me the whole time. What else could a man possibly need?"_

She grinned back at him, as he wrapped his arms around her and squeezed her tight.

_"And I have me darlin' girl, me brave lil angel thot I luv more than all tha gold at tha end o' the rainbow,"_ he whispered close to her ear as he drew her in for a soft, deep kiss, threading his hands through her long, still auburn locks.

And Miguel Cruz's lunch got very cold indeed.


	4. 601 My Island in the Sun

**A/N:** _We would like to say a __**BIG**__ thank you to everyone for their enthusiasm for the first complete episode in this new series of wish-fulfilment stories. We truly appreciated all the reviews, favorites and follows which we've received for this and our companion piece on the M rated page titled Reconnections, which we affectionately call our Smutpuppies._

_Much love and thanks go out to Amanda Hawthorn, Daisy Day and all the Burner girls on Twitter and FB, for your support and comments for this and our other stories._

**()()()()()**

**PUPPIES, KITTENS & GUN TOTING BABIES.**

**6.01 – This is My Island in the Sun**

_An alternate S6 premiere following on from 5.16 – Depth Perception._

_Everything is the same up to the end of Episode 16 __except__, Fiona and Jesse are late getting back from the Cayman Islands after blackmailing Anson's banker, George Anders. This story begins, several hours after Michael (sitting alone in the cafe) has taken Sam's call explaining that he never got to see the FBI deputy director, because Commander Sam Axe was now being investigated as a possible Russian agent._

_**()()()()()**_

Running a hand over his chin, Sam Axe peered out of the window and up the metal staircase to the reinforced steel door at the top. The last time he had spoken with his friend, it had been to inform him that Anson Fullerton had outplayed them yet again. Now, the conniving evil genius not only had his money, he had also managed to neutralize Sam's buddy network within the FBI. He sighed again, the anger over how skilfully he had been manipulated now buried under a layer of distaste laced with trepidation.

"You ready for this?" He turned to his passenger, his voice flat and emotionless.

"Me? I thought -" Jesse Porter's eyes went wide and he paled as he realized he wasn't going to get any help from his friend.

"Well, you thought wrong, this is on _you_ - and _her_, but as she's -gone, so, it's _all_ on you. I'm here for Mikey."

Swallowing thickly, Mr. Porter nodded. He had honestly thought Sam was going to flatten him when he'd met him at Opa Locka Airport earlier. Fresh back from DC, still trying to assimilate the news he was now being investigated as a possible Russian spy, the former SEAL had been in no mood for the bombshell dropped on him by the former CIFA agent.

"I didn't have much say in it, Sam. She just – –" Jesse muttered, his words fading away as he climbed out of the car. There was nothing he could say which would make him feel better about what they were about to do. "Let's get this over with."

Knocking on the door and calling out, Sam slipped his key into the door and let them both inside. Unsurprisingly, Michael was still up. Sitting at what passed as a kitchen counter top, he had been staring at the screen of his laptop, no doubt trying to figure a way out of the trap they found themselves caught up in.

"You're back." The spy breathed a sigh of relief. "I thought -" He was on his feet, a welcoming smile on his lips as his eyes skimmed over his friends in his search for his girlfriend.

"Where's Fi?" he asked when he realized Fiona hadn't followed them in. "Guys?"

The temperature in the loft seemed to drop several degrees as Michael, sensing something had gone very wrong, looked from one man to the other, waiting impatiently for somebody to tell him what was going on. Sam, refusing to make eye contact, had managed to find something very interesting on the floor, while Jesse shifted uneasily from foot to foot, gulped, licked his lips and gulped again.

"Jesse, where's Fiona?" Mr. Westen asked again, a little firmer this time.

"Er, look, I…" The words dried in Jesse's throat. Now that he was here, standing in front of Michael, he was finding nearly impossible to do what he had to. Then in a rush, he blurted out "I'm sorry, man. She's gone." Jesse forced himself to make eye contact. He owed Michael at least that much. "She's dead. There was a -"

"NO!" Michael shook his head in denial. "You're wrong." Tears filled his eyes and his chest heaved as if he was having trouble breathing. Jesse watched as Sam silently moved between them, the older man's eyes fixed on his best friend.

Once he had uttered the heart breaking news, Jesse found he couldn't stop talking as he tried to explain what had happened. "We met up with Anson's banker, just like we planned. But just after he transferred the money, these guys with heavy artillery and bad attitudes turned up. They said George owed them major bucks... I'm sorry, Mike, she didn't stand a chance, man."

"Where is she? I want to see her." Michael swiped at the tears that rolled down his cheeks. He was moving back and forth, pacing like a caged animal.

"I don't know. I had to leave..."

The younger man wasn't sure how it happened. But, all of a sudden, Sam was picking himself up from the floor and Jesse found himself pressed back against the wall, staring into red rimmed, moisture filled eyes with an arm pressing into his throat.

"The banker dude had tried to rip off some of his clients and they found out." Jesse choked out the words. "Fi got caught in the crossfire... There was nothing- I couldn't get to her..."

"Couldn't get to her?!... _You left her, you left Fiona_!... What if – how do you know she's dead?" Jesse flinched as a fist punched into the wall beside his head while Michael continued to rant.

"I saw her go down," Jesse gasped. "There were too many- _OOOF!_" Michael's fist buried itself in the tall man's ribs, driving the air from his lungs and that was only the first of many blows that rained down on him.

He didn't want to hit back at Michael. The guy had just had his world ripped apart. But even using his longer reach, Jesse was finding it hard to hold off the grief-stricken spy.

"Okay, brother that's enough." Sam had managed to come up behind Michael while the other's attention was fixed on Jesse. Not wanting to risk getting hit himself, he wrapped an arm around his best friend's throat and secured him in a head lock.

It was a risky move. If Michael had truly lost all control and struggled, the hold could possibly break his neck. "Stand down, Mikey... Stand down, brother... Easy, take it easy." He kept up a soothing chatter as his friend stopped fighting and sagged back against him.

"What the hell happened, Jess'?! Where the hell were you?! You should have saved her. Why aren't you hurt?! You should have done more..." As the accusations flowed faster, once again Sam had to tighten his hold when Michael's hands came up to try to break his grip.

"Hey, easy, Mike!" Sam grunted as he sucked up the pain of getting his foot stamped on and several elbow strikes to his ribs. "I don't want to have to choke you out. _But I will_."

Breathing deeply, Jesse moved back, keeping a wary eye on his assailant. He made one last attempt to reach out. "Mike -"

"Get the hell out! GO! Get outta my sight before I do something you'll regret." Michael snarled, finally twisting out of Sam's grip.

"Mike, I'm sorry, man -" Jesse had known it was going to be bad. He had dreaded this moment and had thought about nothing else all the way back from the Caymans. But what he hadn't expected was such unbridled rage. The look in Michael Westen's eyes told him that the spy would like nothing more than to rip him apart.

"I told _you_ to leave." The quietly spoken words were far worse than the shouting. "You too, Sam. I don't need you hanging around. Go home to Elsa."

"Mike…" Sam spoke softly and took half a step forward. But the look in his best-friend's eyes made him back up. "Okay, Mikey, I'm gonna give you some space. But I'm_ not_ goin' home 'til I know you're alright."

Jesse opened his mouth to speak and then quickly thought better of it;_ After all, what else was there for him to say_? Stepping outside, he sighed heavily and walked silently down the steps with Sam trailing after him.

"Jesse, take my car." Sam dug into his pants pocket and brought out his keys. "Go home, try to sleep. I'll take it from here."

"You sure, man ? Do you think we should call Maddy?"

"I'm not involving any more people in this than I have to. Besides, Maddy's gone off to Daytona to stay with Nate for a while, so let's keep it like that. Go home, Jess. We both knew this wasn't gonna be a walk in the park." He cuffed the bald man on the shoulder and turned him towards Big Mama's car.

"I'll bring him round, but you might have to stay outta his way for a while," Sam advised, casting a glance back to the door at the top of the stairs. "See if you can get a face to face with Pearce in the morning, prep the ground for when I send Mikey there in to talk to her. That's if I can talk him into it." He sighed and rubbed a hand over his chin. "I wish you'd had sense enough to call me before lettin' things get this far outta hand."

Jesse nodded sadly. He just hoped when all this was over that Michael could find it in his heart to forgive him. Letting out a long sigh, he climbed into Sam's Cadillac and drove away from the loft to his own place in downtown Miami.

As he drove out onto the causeway, he wiped a hand over his eyes. He felt like a total bastard. His mind filled with his last vision of Fiona, her body covered in blood and some of her long hair blowing in the breeze from where it caught in a nearby bush. A chill ran up his spine as he remembered dragging her limp body to the river and then returning to set light to the banker's car.

He banged a tightly wound fist down on the steering wheel. He should have said _no_ to doing things her way.

**()()()()()**

Sam waited until Jesse drove off and then pulled the tall metal gates shut. Wrapping the thick chain through the gaps in the gate, he pulled out a new padlock he had purchased on the way from the airport to the loft. With the entrance secured, the older man looked around for a safe place to hide the key where hopefully his buddy wouldn't find it right away. Finally, he dropped it into one of the containers of assorted screws sitting on a shelf against the wall where the drug dealer Sugar had once lived.

Satisfied that the padlocked gates would at least slow the spy down should he attempt to run off in the middle of the night, Sam turned back to the stairs. He could guess what was waiting for him back inside the loft. After all, he had been there for the aftermath of Michael's forced extraction from Ireland by Tom Card. He had seen the depths the young agent had sunk to then and he'd been there to pick up the pieces that time, too.

Pursing his lips, Sam took the stairs one at a time. _What the hell had Jesse and Fiona been doing in the Caymans to bring things down to this?_

Just as he reached for the handle to let himself in, the door flew open and Michael stood there, his face set in grim lines, his eyes red raw and filled with unshed tears. In his left hand, he gripped a long canvas bag and, from the way the handles strained, Sam guessed it was full of enough guns and ammunition to start a small war.

"Get outta my way, Sam." The cold dead tone in Michael's voice sent a chill through the older man.

"Where are you gonna go, Mike? It's after midnight. You can't do anything until the morning." Sam remained in place, barring his descent.

"I'm gonna find Anson and I'm going to kill him. Then I'm going to find out what happened to – to..." Unable to say the words, the spy shook his head and reached behind his back with his free hand. "_Move_, _Sam_. I'm not telling you again."

In a flash, Sam found himself staring into the barrel of his best friend's gun. But he could see the anguish and desperation in the younger man's eyes and the way the barrel wavered in his shaky hand. Moving slowly and very cautiously, Sam eased the weapon from Michael's hand and made it safe before slipping it into the back of his waistband.

Michael's breath caught and his expression started to crumbled. "He left her, Sam. I can't believe -"

"Mike, you know Jesse wouldn't have done that unless there was no choice."

And, at Sam's words, the light of anger and hatred returned. The punch that came at him nearly landed, but the former SEAL half expected violence and just managed to block the blow.

"There's _always_ a choice and he _chose_ to leave her," the younger man spat back.

"Mikey, you're not thinking straight and nobody expects you to be, not right now. Going off and killing Anson won't end this. You don't even know where to look. He has all his money now, he could be anywhere in the world." Sam was relieved to see some of the tension leave his friend; thankfully the younger man hadn't completely lost the ability to reason.

"So, what do I do, Sam? What do I do? She's gone... I can't do this on my own."

The desperation in Michael's tone tore at Sam and he silently cursed Fiona Glenanne wherever she might be. _All she'd had to do was get Anson his money and find a way to track it. But instead she'd had to -_

He stopped the thought there. Getting angry at somebody who wasn't around to argue back was a waste of time. Instead, he cautiously reached out and directed his best friend back inside the loft. Once he had the door closed and locked, he followed Michael over to the counter top where the devastated man dropped his bag filled with weaponry and slumped down on one of the chairs.

"You're not alone. _You have_ friends and, if you want something to do, you can do what Fiona wanted you to in the first place." Sam walked around and collected two glasses and a bottle of Scotch from under the sink.

"Fiona wanted to put a bullet in that bastard's head," came the immediate reply.

"Yeah – yeah, she did." Sam bit down on his lip and poured out two measures of the spirit, making sure his friend took the larger of the two. Screwing the lid back on to the bottle, he took a moment to think about how to word his next sentence. "But she also wanted you to spill the beans to Pearce about what's going on and make things right."

"_You_ _want_ _me_ to go to the CIA with this? Fiona _hated_ me working -"

The spy crumbled and abruptly turned away. "I was doing this all for her. I _could_ have made things right... I just needed more time. One way or another, I woulda..." He shook his head and then swiped at his eyes before emptying the glass of Scotch in one go. "I _woulda_ found a way to end it."

Sam wiped at his own face, hating that this was happening, and there was nothing he could do but try to push his friend in the right direction.

"You have to finish this," he replied, keeping his tone even and business like. "You have to forgive Jesse. We need him, Mikey... Look, I know it's not the same thing, but he forgave you for burning him. It took a while, but he forgave you."

Michael looked up at this. "Jesse _shot_ me and, believe me when I say, I'd _happily_ return _that_ favor." He snatched up the bottle and poured himself another glassful.

"Okay…" Sam nodded his head in agreement. "But promise me you'll wait. I'm right about you needing him to talk to Pearce and you know I am. I don't know why, but she certainly prefers the company of tall, bald and urban to the rest of us. We need her in on this, _on our side,_ Mike, not trying to arrest your ass for lying to her again. Only Jesse can talk her through that and, with her on our side, we can set up Anson... He doesn't know he's lost his leverage." Sam leaned forward. "You do this right and he could be getting his in a coupla days."

Michael at least appeared to be listening. The younger man nodded sadly and then, without warning, abruptly stood up and snatched up the bottle. He walked unsteadily towards the bed. Michael looked down at the mattress he had shared with Fiona and took a long pull straight from the bottle, before turning away to almost fall down into the old green, padded chair.

When he next spoke, it came out flat and lifeless. "She was _never_ leverage. She was..." He swallowed hard and then found his voice again. "Go home, Sam. I'll still be here in the morning."

To the former Naval commander, his best friend getting drunk wasn't the worst thing he could do, so Sam said nothing and settled down to remain on vigil while Michael drunk himself in to a stupor. Once the spy passed out, the older man lifted up his friend's limp body and placed him on top of the covers on the bed. After removing the younger man's shoes, he made sure the inebriated man was lying on his side with a trash can nearby in case he woke up and needed to throw up.

Sam contemplated the shot that Michael had left unfinished on the table for a moment. Then he tossed it back quickly before heading over to the kitchen to make himself some coffee. With his beverage in his hand, he sat down at the counter and switched the laptop back on.

"_Thanks a lot, Tinkerbell,_" he muttered. With a press of a key, he turned his attention to trying to make sense of Anson Fullerton's finances.

**()()()()()**

It was one o'clock in the morning and Jesse was still stuck on the causeway while the emergency services cleared up the aftermath of an accident which had left the whole road blocked. He was trapped with nowhere to go. He couldn't get around the mess and he couldn't back up. _Sorta like_…. Staring out at the traffic ahead of him and the bright city lights in the distance, all he could think about was the previous forty eight hours and what had brought him to this point.

"_You know breaking into a hospital blood bank in order to help a blood sucking leech get his millions out of a flagged account has to be one of my least favorite assignments ever," he had complained as he'd opened one of the large refrigeration units at the Saint Georges community hospital. "B negative, right?"_

_He had glanced around and noticed she wasn't listening to him nor was she standing by the door, watching out for guards. Instead, she was closing another fridge door and holding two bags of O positive in her hands. "Er, Fi… What are you doing? I thought the plan was two bags of B neg and the equipment to draw off some donor blood."_

_He remembered how she had pursed her lips and stared at him. Then, all of a sudden, she had started to come out with what could only be described as the most crazy assed plan in the history of crazy assed plans._

"_You know this isn't the end of it, don't you? Anson will keep forcing Michael to do his bidding. All we're doing here is giving the bastard a helping hand." She had been sharing her opinion about what her boyfriend was doing for Anson Fullerton ever since they had arrived in the capital of the largest of the Cayman Islands. "Michael is on the edge of doing something very, very bad and you know it," she continued, her speech increasin__g in speed and venom. "He's already destroyed CIA records for that parasite and, once we get him his money, do you really think he'll just disappear?"_

"_So, what do you wanna do about it, Fi? You got any other ideas, apart from the whole 'putting a bullet in Anson's head' plan? Cuz you know that won't fix anything. You try it and the evidence against you will be dropped into the cops' laps and you'll end up in the slammer or worse. I think for now –-" He had tried to make her see sense._

"_Anson is never going to let us go. Michael doesn't get it. He's so busy trying save me, to be my white knight, to be everyone's white knight, that he keeps playing right into that slimeball's hands... So, it's up to me to find a way to break the sonuvbitch's hold on us."_

"_Okay, I'll give ya that, but__ what's left, Fi? Cuz, the way I see it, we're all outta moves. If you plan on running, it still comes down to the same thing. You'll either end up locked up or on the run for the rest of your life."_

_Then she had smiled at him and lifted the bags of O negative blood up to frame her smiling face. "It's just as easy to fake two deaths as it is to fake one."_

_He had walked towards her, shaking his head and determined to stop her before she had a chance to do something she and he would both regret. But she had dodged around him and continued talking about her insane idea and like a fool he had ended up listening._

"_Yes, don't you see? You're right. If I run, Anson will just out me. There's only one clear way to get out from the sonuvabitch's clutches and that's to hand everything over to the CIA and make them understand." She had taken a breath, her face a mask of anguish before speaking again. "If Michael believes I'm gone, if he quits trying to save me, then he'll be free to act. All you and Sam will have to do is make sure he does the right thing."_

"_Seriously? All I've gotta do –?" He had laughed at her, at the sheer absurdity of her plan. "Are you__ crazy, woman? You want me to go back to Miami and tell your boyfriend, the Michael Westen, that you're dead and I came back without you? Oh, no, no, no, no, no…."_ _She had to be joking._

But he had been wrong; she was deadly serious.

"_Speak to Sam first then. Let him in on what we're doing. He doesn't like where Michael is going any more than the rest of us, but he's just too lily-livered to call him out on it. Anson is too clever and he knows Michael too well. We can't risk that bastard working out that I'm still alive. This our only chance to neutralize the hold he has over Michael."_

_He'd tried to reach out to her, understanding completely where she was coming from. But to make Michael believe she had be__en killed was wrong on so many levels. Couldn't she see that now she was the one roping them all into doing a bad thing even if it was for a good reason, it sure as hell didn't make it right._

_It was then she had looked at him with a strange melancholy look in her eyes, as if she was remembering something painful. When she spoke, her tone was so soft that he'd had to strain to hear her clearly._

"_When I asked Michael how far he was prepared to go ... He told me there were no limits to what he would do to protect me. D'ya have any idea what it feels like ta have somebody tell you that?" _

_She'd paused, blinking slowly as she searched for the right words. _

"_I've never told you about my family back in Ireland, have I?... I have a brother." She smiled sadly. "He loves us all deeply. There is nothing, no line he wouldn't cross to keep us all safe." She paused again, swallowing thickly. "He has no limits. He has nobody to tell him when to stop - to make him see what he's doing when he goes too far. I never believed all the stories about him, until I wit - until I actually saw what he is capable of doing..."_

_Jesse remembered being sucked in by her haunted expression and, for a moment, his blood ran cold wondering just what she had seen, just what her brother had been capable of and remembering what he already knew Michael Westen was capable of._

"_I love my brother with all my heart, but I will not let Michael become that same sort of monster because of me."_

_And that was when the craziness began._

The blast of a car horn jerked Mr. Porter back to the present and he put the Cadillac into drive, happy for the chance to get into his own bed and to try to make sense of what the hell he had got himself into in the small comfort of his own bed.

**()()()()()**

The early morning sun streaming in through the loft windows caused Sam to wake from where he had finally fallen asleep, slumped over the kitchen counter top with Michael's laptop still open next to him. Slowly straightening up, he yawned and then groaned as he stretched his back and then rolled his shoulders, easing out all the kinks from his aching muscles.

Turning, he glanced over to the bed and the figure curled up on top of the covers. Michael was still on his side, his knees drawn up to his chest and his face buried into Fiona's pillow. Rubbing a hand over his chin and jaw, Sam searched for the strength to carry on with what he considered to be a gross breach of trust.

He understood why they were torturing his best-friend, but it didn't mean he had to like it. If he had been there when Fiona had come up with this hare-brained scheme, he would have done his best to put a stop to it. She was no better than Mikey when it came to finding a strategy to fight Anson Fullerton. They were both so desperate to break the hold the sociopathic psychologist had on them, neither one of them was thinking about where their actions were leading them.

Michael had already stepped over the line so many times Sam was afraid it was becoming a habit. He had lied to his agency contact, _again_, a woman they all considered a friend to get his top secret clearance reinstated. He had then used that clearance to break into the CIA computers and hide Anson's identity. And now he had given that man access to enough money to do anything he wanted. Each time he did one of these jobs, Michael couldn't seem to grasp the fact that he was just placing himself further under Anson's thumb.

However, Fiona was no better. She veered from wanting to shoot Anson and then go on the run, to wanting to take her chances and hand herself in to the FBI. This latest attempt, convincing Michael that the love of his life was dead in order to free him to act, was even more foolish than her other plans and way more chancy.

Sam could admit he was just as frustrated as she was. He hated to see his best friend being manipulated into becoming traitor. But he dreaded the day coming when Michael Westen finally lost his soul...No, this, this was a dangerous path they were all on. He knew what Michael was capable of doing, or rather becoming. There was a very good reason why Larry Sizemore had kept trying to renew his association with his former protégé.

And if Michael's old persona, the man who had cut a bloody path through large parts of Russia and the Republic of Serbia in the early nineties, was let out of the box and left free to act, what would happen when he discovered the very people he should have been able to trust had manipulated him so cruelly?

At that moment, Michael let out a soft whimper and began to shift in his sleep. Pushing back his concerns, Sam got to his feet and started preparing for the moment his friend finally opened his eyes. Switching the laptop back on, he made a quick trip to the bathroom and then went to see what Michael had in the way of breakfast foods in the refrigerator.

He wanted this whole sorry mess to be over and done with as soon as possible and he was silently praying to God that this time the good guys could catch a lucky break.

**()()()()()**

Pain, mind numbing thumping pain, tore Michael from his restless sleep and, when he raised his head off the pillow, a wave of nausea inducing dizziness sent his stomach into full fledged rebellion. All of a sudden, he was running desperately for the bathroom with a hand over his mouth, hoping he was going to make it in time.

Collapsing down in front of the toilet, he emptied nearly a full bottle of scotch from his protesting stomach. All the while shudders ran up and down his spine and his head continued to pound away as if there was somebody with a jack hammer trying to break out of his skull.

When he finally stopped retching, he pulled himself wearily up on to his feet and moved over to the sink to wash his mouth out. Standing up, he stared straight ahead and caught sight of his reflection in the small shaving mirror attached to the wall in front of him. A cold chill ran through his body as he stared into the lifeless eyes of a stranger and at that moment it all came flooding back.

_She__ was gone._

The last time he had seen her, she had still been angry with him for not letting her kill Anson... And now she was dead. He dropped his head down, watching the water from the tap circle the bottom of the sink before disappearing down the drain.

"_When is this going to end, Michael?"_

His head jerked up and the same cold eyed man with the blank expression stared back at him.

"Fi…" Her name tumbled from his throat in a strangled whisper and tears welled in his eyes.

Gulping, sniffing and wiping furiously at his eyes, Michael pushed down the crush of emotions trying to tear him down. Slowly everything stilled, he breathed deeply through his nose as he stored away all the pain and grief. Letting his eyelids close, he resisted the urge to scream as he let go of the image of his girlfriend, _his_ Fiona, lying dead and bloody all alone in a foreign country.

When he opened his eyes and stared at the reflection of the man staring back at him, his fingers curled into tight hard fists and then with an animalistic snarl one of those fists flew and the mirror shattered.

_NO!_

He couldn't let himself fall into grief. He _had_ to maintain control, he owed it to her. An icy cold cloak settled around him, seeping through his skin and into his veins, cooling the burning desire to kill. Now, he felt nothing. Last night, his heart had been ripped out and now all that was left was an empty shell. He stared at his blood covered knuckles and felt absolutely nothing at all.

"Mikey?" A hand pounded on the bathroom door and, a second later, the cheap piece of wood was jerked open. "Hey, brother, what are you doin'?"

He saw Sam Axe standing in the doorway and stared straight through him, ignoring his best friend as if he wasn't there. Wrapping a cold wash cloth over his already swelling hand, Michael pushed by the older man and walked towards the kitchen.

"Mike? C'mon, Mikey, talk to me."

Michael reached down to the cupboard under the sink and he came up with the remaining bottle of scotch. He needed something to keep him numb, to stop him from getting lost in a sea of emotions he wasn't trained to handle. If he could just stop himself flying apart until …...

"_How many lives are ya willing ta destroy, Michael? How many people will ya leave bleedin' at tha side o' tha road ta save me?"_

He twisted off the cap and lifted the bottle to his lips. He needed to numb his brain. There was nothing to think about; he knew what he had to do. A quick glance at his watch told him he had plenty of time to finish his drink and then prepare to end it all.

"Ah-ah, fella not going to happen..." Without any more warning, Sam snatched the booze from his friend's hand and hurled the alcohol into the sink. "Look, I know you feel like crap and I'm sorry. But you have a meeting with Pearce in a coupla hours and turning up drunk and bloody ain't gonna fly."

"And I told you to leave." The ice in his veins was filling up the dark space where is heart had been. Everything around him felt wrong, flat and disconnected.

"Well, lucky for you, I'm not taking orders right now... Sit down and let me clean up that hand and then I'll tell you all about Anson's warehouse in Tampa." This was no-nonsense Commander Axe speaking and, to make his point, he pulled out one of the stools in front of the counter and pushed his friend down onto it.

"I'm not goin' anywhere near Pearce or the CIA," Michael declared, staring across at the sink and the remains of the empty bottle laying in a pool of amber liquid. "And unless _you_ can _promise_ me Anson is in Tampa, I'm not interested in _any_ warehouse." His lips thinned in barely suppressed anger, yet he remained where Sam had pushed him and didn't fight the older man as he carefully started to pull splinters of glass out of his blood soaked hand,

"I can't promise you we'll find Anson in Tampa. But will you at least listen to what I have to say?" Sam wiped away the blood and, once he was sure he had got all the glass, he slapped a dressing over his friend's knuckles and frowned when he got no reaction. "Mike, c'mon, don't zone out on me here. Listen, I promise you won't be disappointed."

"Fine, get on with it," Michael snapped back.

"Alrighty then, I hadda look at the account details F - Jes- _We_ got from Anson's Cayman Island accounts. And I tell ya brother, I couldn't make any headway... So, in the end, I thought who do we know sneaky enough to work it out for us? And a couple of hours ago, our spiky haired friend Barry sent me this."

He held out a thin manila file, but when Michael showed no interest, he sighed and opened it himself. "Barry worked on this all night. He managed to trace a few mill through half a dozen shells corporations to a Chinese brokerage account and finally, while most of it went to a DC law firm, several smaller chunks were used to pay for the rent on a large warehouse in Tampa and have it rigged with some very high end electronic security set ups. So, before running off to break into that lawyers' office, I'm thinking the place in Tampa might be worth a look see. What do you think?"

Michael let out a long drawn out sigh. He knew from experience Sam was not going to leave him alone or let him sit and get drunk.

"I'll go to Tampa," he agreed, but then fixed the former SEAL with his cold stare. "But Pearce, and the CIA – forget it... I'm going to take care of Anson myself and then I'm done."

"You can't do this by yourself, Mikey. This bastard… I spent most of the night going through everything you've got on him and, I tell ya, he's got angles like I've never seen. Just when you think you've gotta handle on him, he slips away... I mean, what are you gonna do? Just go by his office? The security at the DIA is pretty tight."

"I'm gonna do whatever it takes," Michael replied coldly. "I'm not going to let a couple of security guards stop me."

Sam frowned and shifted forward until he was almost nose to nose with his friend. _This was precisely what he had been dreading_. "This is what I'm saying, brother. You're not thinking clearly. Can you hear yourself? You're talkin' about shootin' a couple of guys for just doing their job. There are smarter ways of getting' this done."

"_You always do the right thing... Do the right thing for me." _

Her voice rang softly in his ear, pleading with him, and it brought a lump to his throat. He wanted to shout at her, make her understand that everything he had done had all been for her, to keep her safe. But it was too late.

"So, what's your plan, Mikey? You kill Anson and then what? Fiona's reputation is still damaged and you're being hunted down as a murderer, a criminal. How does that help anyone? Your mom's gonna get dragged in for questioning. She'll have news vans on the front lawn twenty four seven with them all wanting to know about her son, the traitor. Is that what you want?"

Sam's voice was slowly chipping away at the ice wall Michael had put up around his heart and, all of a sudden, it was more than he could bear.

"_What I want?_ You think I wanted _any_ of this?" He was on his feet, the stool he had been sitting on flung half way across the room. "I want her back... I _don't care_ about the rest."

He turned away, making his way out onto the balcony. Whether it was the morning humidity, the raging hangover or just pure and simple grief, he had no idea. But he just felt the need to get out, get away from everyone and everything.

"_Aye, yer good at leavin' aren't ya?" _The accusation had sounded so clear and so full of the same bitterness that he thought she was there.

A wave of grief washed over him, tearing through his whole body, leaving every nerve raw. He wanted to scream out that he wasn't leaving, not this time. Then, out of the blue, his mother's face came to him, her anger at what had happened to her family, what Anson and Management, had done to her, taken from her.

"You think what we've got is enough?" He turned, standing framed in the double doors which led outside, his arms folded defensively across his chest. "There's nothing there that ties Anson solidly to a crime."

"It will give Pearce a good place to start," Sam replied carefully. "And while she's going through all that, it frees you up to check out the leads we've got. We're about the change the game on him, brother." He smiled. "He's not going to know what's hit him."

"_If _Pearce will listen to me. I mean, when she finds out what I've done, that I lied to her, Sam..."

"She'll listen. I've made sure she'll listen, but it's gonna be up to you to convince her you're on the level this time."

**()()()()()**

Senior Agent Dani Pearce sat at her desk, her long slim fingers idly tapping a beat on the wood veneer top of her desk. Staring out through the horizontal blinds which covered the large interior window in front of her, she could see the figure of the man she was waiting for stride into the outer office.

She could see how tired he looked and the usual confident toothy smile he liked to flash at the office staff was absent. She knew she should be angry with him, that she should have arranged to have a tactical team on standby to arrest him as soon as he stepped into the building. But instead she was going to listen to what he had to say and try to understand his explanation for his actions.

As he neared her door, she got up and pulled the blinds all the way down and altered the angle of the slats to ensure they had some privacy. The box he was carrying in his hands looked full and rather heavy, but it was nothing compared to the files she had dug up after her early morning conversation with Jesse Porter.

_The former CIFA officer had approached mid-way through her early morning run, stepping out onto the dirt pathway in front of her just after she had rounded a tight corner. Coming to an abrupt halt, her hand had automatically reached for the handle of her government issue side-arm concealed under her loose fitting top._

"_Jesse?! You should know better than to come up on somebody out here! What do you want? What's happened?" At the time, she had known it had to do with Michael Westen, only it wasn't the news she had expected to hear._

"_We have to talk." He had taken hold of her arm and urged her to step off the trail and into a secluded spot amongst the trees and bushes which lined the path._

_Only the intensity in his dark brown eyes and the look of desperation etched into his features had stopped her from telling him if he wanted to talk, he should call her first. Placing her hands on her hips, she'd stared back at him, trying to ignore the line of sweat she could feel running down her back._

"_Well, spill it, Jesse. What can't wait until after breakfast?"_

_He had sighed, looked down at his feet and then, just as she had been about to make a comment about him wasting her time, he had spoken in a voice so quiet that she hadn't been sure if she heard him correctly._

"_Fiona Glenanne is dead."_

"_What? How? Did Michael send you?" The words had spilled from her mouth as she took in the news that her newest CIA asset had lost probably the most important person in his life._

"_It's – complicated." He'd bit down on his bottom lip, mirroring her own stance with his hands on his hips. "Look, I came to find you, because Mike is gonna come into see you this morning and I wanted to give you a heads up, so you'll understand where he's coming from."_

"_Jesse, why would you think I wouldn't understand? He should take time off -" She had been reaching for her cell phone, intent on calling the man in question and tell him to take as much time as he needed when Jesse's hand had closed about her wrist._

"_No, like I said, it's complicated. I have something to tell you before you talk to him... It's important." At the time, she had thought it strange the way he kept looking around as if he was scared he was being watched._

_By the time he had told her what had been going on under her nose, she had been furious._

The sharp knock on her door brought her out of her thoughts and she moved back round to her seat. She needed to be sitting down for this meeting. "Come in, Westen," she called out.

When he entered, she withheld a gasp. She had thought he looked tired when she had seen him from a distance, but close up Michael Westen looked dreadful. Even with his sunglasses on, it was possible to see his grief and the sense of loss etched into his features. Closing the door behind him, he carefully placed the box he was carrying on her desk next to the files she had already stacked up there.

"Take a seat, Michael." At the sight of him looking so broken, Dani found her anger diminishing. She remembered what it felt like to lose a loved one to a violent act and she knew Fiona Glenanne had been a big part of his life for over a decade and half.

"You've spoken to Je—," he swallowed and looked away. "Porter." He spoke as if his friend's name left a bad taste in his mouth.

His inability to speak Jesse's name caused her to pause and frown, wondering what had happened between the two men. Jesse had been vague about how Fiona had lost her life and now Michael's reaction was leading her think there was more than met the eye to the whole situation.

"Yes, he told me what happened. I'm sorry for your loss, she -"

"I don't want your sympathy, Agent Pearce." His attitude changed in an instant as he leaned towards her. "I want to know if you're going to help me bring down Anson Fullerton."

She could feel his anger. If he was an official employee, she would have ordered him to take compassion leave. But not only was Westen a private contractor, she knew he would not listen any way. Now that Jesse had given her all the details and, from what she had already been able to confirm herself, she had no choice. She had to go along and do her best to keep him acting within the law.

"_Mike only did what he did because he was trying to keep Fiona out of jail. You have to believe me. Fiona would not have planted a bomb and killed innocent people. You've checked her out, you know how good she is. She used one bomb to take out this guy Larry. He was Michael's partner back in the day. He had already killed an innocent woman and he was threatening to kill Mike. If you read the FBI file, you'll see two completely different bombs were used, different explosives and triggers. What bomb-maker uses two different chemical signatures and different wiring techniques?"_

_Jesse's argument had convinced her that Fullerton needed looking into, but she had still been furious. Westen had sat in front of her and lied, he had lied every time they spoke, he had breached CIA security and used a virus to wipe out data on a dangerous criminal. And now Jesse had admitted to helping Fiona Glenanne circumvent a flagged account to release the man's money._

"_You should all be locked up for the rest of your lives." The slap which had landed on Jesse's cheek had left a hand print and rocked his head to the side. But instead of backing away, he had moved closer, his large hands cupping her shoulders with just enough grip to keep her still. He was right inside her personal space and her heart rate was rocketing as she looked up at him._

"_So, we've made mistakes." He'd looked down at her, sincerity glowing in his eyes as he pleaded with her to understand. "He loves her and was only trying to protect her, we all were. She doesn't deserve jail for killing a man like Larry Sizemore. I never knew him, but I know he strapped a bomb to a woman's neck and blew her head off just to make a point."_

_As she had listened to him, she had flash-backed to the murder of her fiancée, murdered because some CIA officers wanted to close a case as quickly as possible. She knew if she ever found out who had killed him, even after all these years, she would do whatever she could to get justice for her dead lover._

"_Please, Dani. You're our only hope. Mike needs to know if he brings Anson in, the guy will pay for what he has done. He needs somebody in the CIA to listen to him."_

Agent Dani Pearce sat up straight in her chair and looked straight into her asset's eyes, her features set in deadly serious lines. Speaking in a coldly authoritative tone, she gave him her answer.

"One last chance, Westen, and from now on I'm running things. We do this by book or not at all."

Michael nodded grimly. One last chance, that's all he needed.


	5. 601 My Island in the Sun - Part 2

**A/N: **We would to give a BIG THANKS to everybody who continues to read and review this story and those of you who have added us to your favorite and alert lists. A special shout out goes to our friends and fellow members of the Padded Cell Cub, Amanda Hawthorn and Daisy Day, and to all the wonderful Burner girls on FB and Twitter. A Special Shout-Out and Happy Birthday to the fabulous Dkougar, reviewer extraordinare! Hope it was a good one!

******()()()()()**

******PUPPIES, KITTENS & GUN TOTING BABIES**

******6.01 – This is My Island in the Sun – Part 2**

___An alternate S6 premiere following on from 5.16 – Depth Perception._

**__****()()()()()**

Sam Axe woke up with a start as the trunk of the Charger suddenly slammed shut with a loud thud and then, while he was still pulling himself together, the driver's side door swung open and a stony faced spy slumped down behind the wheel.

"Hey, Mikey, I was beginning to think you'd dumped me and sneaked outta the back door." His light hearted comment was greeted by a thinning of Michael's lips and a scowl.

"So, what did the boss lady have to say? I mean, you've been gone forever, brother."

"She's willing to help." Michael answered flatly, as he started up the muscle car. "I've just spent the last three hours going through _ev__erything_ _we_ know about Anson Fullerton." He didn't mention the part where Agent Pearce had torn into him for all the lies he'd told before finally calming down and agreeing to assist them. "She cleared us going to Tampa to check out the warehouse while she investigates the DC lawyers." He cast a glance over to his friend. "She's also gonna put a surveillance detail on Anson, so we'll know where he is and what he's up to."

" You sure _that's_ a good idea? I mean, he's a sneaky sonuvabitch, _if_ he realizes he's being watched..."

"That's what _I_ said," Michael huffed. "But she insisted. She _promised_ they'll stay back and watch from a distance... Pearce said she wants to know where he is at all times, so as soon as we have something to pin on him, she can bring him in."

"Hey, that's great, isn't it?" Sam aimed to point out the positive, but Michael was no longer listening to him.

The grieving spy drove as if he had nothing to lose, speeding through the mid-day Miami traffic and out onto the I-75 heading north and eventually west towards Tampa. Soon enough they were on that stretch of road which cut through the northern end of the Everglades better known as Alligator Alley. For a while, Sam tried to draw his friend into talking about what Agent Pearce had had to say during their meeting, but all he got in return for his questions was a scowl and the sound of the Charger's engine increasing in speed. Finally, he took the hint and stopped talking.

Sam wasn't too worried by the spy's taciturnity. He knew exactly how Michael's mind worked and knew that, for the time being. the younger man wasn't prepared to listen to anything he had to say, so he settled down to wait.

The long boring drive to Tampa under normal circumstance could take anywhere between four and a half to five hours depending on the traffic ahead. That was plenty of time to work on getting Michael's head back in the game. However, as they began to flash by more and more vehicles, it was becoming clear to Sam that his friend was shooting to half the travel time and, if he didn't say something soon, they would be very lucky not to attract the attention of a deputy sheriff or even worse the FHP.

"Something up, Mike?" Sam sat upright in his seat and for the first time clipped his seatbelt on.

"Yeah, I think we've picked up tail... Three cars back, a blue Taurus with tinted glass. It's keeping at least two vehicles between us at all times, but whatever I do it stays there."

Sam twisted around and peered back. The car following them looked pretty nondescript and traffic along this part of the road was usually thin, making the tail stand out more readily now that Michael had pointed it out. It was easy to see as the Charger changed lanes or altered its speed that the Taurus stayed with them, though never getting close enough for them to get a good look at the driver.

"Maybe Pearce has somebody keeping an eye on us?" Sam suggested doubtfully.

"Yeah and maybe Anson knows Fiona is - gone and he's watching to see what I do," Michael countered.

"So, what are _we_ gonna to do?"

Michael took a moment to think and then all of a sudden eased his foot back off the gas pedal. "We're coming up on the exit for Naples. I'll pull off and see if I can lose them."

Sam took a long look at his friend's profile, seeing the tension in Michael's jaw as he glanced into his rear view mirror at the car following behind them.

"And if we can't? What are you thinking about here, Mike?"

"Don't worry about it, Sam... Get Pearce on the line and find out if she sent a babysitter to watch over us."

While Sam called Agent Pearce, Michael began to drive like an idiot: indicating left and then turning right, taking too long at junctions and then suddenly pulling out into the smallest of gaps, slowing down at traffic lights only to speed through at the last minute, using every trick he could think off to shake off the blue sedan.

"Well, she says whoever they are, they're not CIA... Oh, and Anson has been chairing a department meeting since nine o clock this morning, so it's doubtful he's involved. We need to do something fast here, Mike. I'm a little thin on cop buddies on this coast. If we get pulled over…"

"Okay then." Michael suddenly slammed on the brakes, bringing the Charger to a sharp stop. Grabbing his gun, he was out of the vehicle before Sam had a chance to react.

"Jeez, Mike, gimme a warning next time." He struggled to unclip the seatbelt and at the same time draw his own gun before following his friend into the open.

They watched as the Taurus came to a halt and then rapidly reverse back before performing a handbrake turn and driving away.

"So, what now?" Sam asked, slipping his gun back into his waistband.

Michael continued to stare after the car, his eyes fixed on the path it had taken.

"Mike?" Sam called out. "Hey, buddy? "

The younger man startled, but instantly composed himself. "Sam, did you see...?" He shook his head in disbelief. "It doesn't matter... Let's get going."

Back in the car, Michael drove around Naples for another twenty minutes just to make sure whoever had been following them was gone and hadn't been replaced by someone else.

Meanwhile, Sam stared out of his window, watching the store fronts and houses as they passed by. He had seen the driver of the Taurus just as well as Michael had, a female shape with long hair, her features obscured by the tint of the wind shield and, just like Michael, he had spotted the similarities to a certain little psychotic former IRA terrorist.

_What the hell was she__ doing?_Sam thought furiously about Michael's supposedly dead girlfriend. _ If anybody spotted her... It would be bad enough if Mike got a clear look, but what if Anson discovered the truth? Or Dani? If Dani thought for one minute Mike was playing her again... Dammit, Tinkerbell!_

It was only when Michael brought the Charger to a stop and switched off the engine that Sam was jerked out of his reverie and realized he had been lost in his thoughts for the last two hours.

"You have a good nap there, Sam?" Michael groused.

"Yeah, I did. Thanks for askin', Mikey." he grinned back, thankful that his friend hadn't realized the real reason for his inattention.

Going around to the trunk, Sam looked on with interest as Michael brought out a large case. "So what have you got here?"

"Pearce thought we could use some CIA toys. We've got tasers, a thermal camera, a circular saw fitted with a state of the art silencer and a copy of the blue prints of the building."

Sam leaned in and pulled out two large rolls of climbing rope. "And these?"

"I was planning on mentioning that. Going off the blue prints, the walls have been reinforced with steel, so the best way in looks to be through the roof."

Sam sighed, "_Great_…So, we're gonna climb up on top, without being seen, and then what? Cut a hole in the ceiling and drop in?"

"That's about it, Sam. Unless you want to wait outside while I deal with any of Anson's guys waiting inside."

Sam caught the hopeful note in his friend's voice and shook his head. "Nope, Mike, I'm going in with you, buddy." He pointed to the notes written down on the edge of the blueprints. "See this? Didn't think I'd bother reading all those little scribbles, did ya? The place was used by its previous owner for storing military tech, weapons and high explosives. If Anson's using it to store his artillery, I'm not about to let you go in there _all_ by yourself with guns blazing, Forget it, brother."

They spent the next few hours watching the warehouse from a distance, but learning little more than what they already knew. The place remained quiet with nobody coming or going. From the outside to the untrained eye, the building looked abandoned. The cracked and crumbling outer walls were covered by faded graffiti and the land surrounding the property was overgrown and unkempt. But what gave it away was the shiny new chain link fence topped with razor wire and, when they used a set of binoculars, it was possible to make out a brand new keypad lock on the reinforced steel doors.

Michael, looked at his watch and then at the darkening sky before answering stiffly. "We'll go in after dark. You can give me a boost onto the roof and then I'll tie off a rope so you can climb up."

"Oh, we just _go in_. It's gonna be that easy, huh?"

"No, Sam, it's not. What I'd like to do is smash through the gates and storm the place. But I _can't_ do that, _can I_? Because it all has to be legal or Pearce will just throw my ass in jail along with Anson's," came the bitter retort.

Sam put a hand to his mouth to disguise how secretly pleased he was. Not only was Dani Pearce doing what he had hoped she would by putting Michael on a short leash, but at least for now his friend wasn't fighting against the restrictions placed on him.

"Hey, look, I know it's not the same as busting down the doors, but the thermal imaging camera will help us see who's in there and how many. And this way you'll have someone alive at the end to question," Sam pointed out, trying to brighten the mood.

It was a starless, pitch black night and as silent as the grave when they cut a hole in the chain link fence and moved swiftly towards the building with Sam following in Michael's stealthy footsteps. A quick check around the outside of the warehouse and then, with a boost to get him as high as possible, Michael managed to find a couple of hand holds and haul himself onto the roof.

Tying off one of the lengths of rope, he kept watch while Sam scaled the side of the worn looking structure, carrying the case of equipment on his back.

Then, using the thermal camera, Michael slowly walked around the roof, making sure he knew who was inside the building and where they were.

"There's a single man inside." Michael kept his voice low. "He's sitting at the far end, watching TV." He pointed to a space about ten feet away from where the guard was relaxing. "There's a solid wall, here. We breech on the other side, we should be in and on him before he knows what hit him."

Sam nodded and brought out the circular saw. "Okey, dokey, you keep an eye on the guard while I make the hole."

The saw made quick work of the roof and the two men dropped through the hole silently. Moving like the skilled, experienced team they were, they quickly made their way over to the door which separated them from the guard, who was too busy watching TV to be doing his job properly.

After making sure the door wasn't alarmed in any way, Michael went through fast with the taser at the ready. By the time Sam joined his friend, the guard was laying on the floor convulsing.

"Well, that went well," the former SEAL commented, as he leaned down to remove the prongs stuck into their prisoner's shirt and secure the man's hands behind his back. "Easy peasy, huh?"

"Sure, Sam, help me get this guy up and I'll find out what he knows while you take a look round."

Sam paused, studying the spy's cool emotionless expression. "Okay, but remember Pearce is going to want him in one piece."

Leaving Michael to find out how much the security guard knew about his employer and what he was guarding, Sam set off to have a look around. Within half an hour he was back, barely able to believe Anson had been so lax.

"Hey, Mikey. look at this." He was dragging a trolley overloaded with samples of the goods being stored. "We have C4, T4, det cord, timer switches, nine milimeter rounds, fifty cal cartridges... You realize if any of this matches what was used in the bombing of the consulate, Fi'll will be in the clear."

"_Woulda_ been in the clear, Sam," Michael corrected him, his face a mask of sorrow. He held out a pile of documents. "Here's a list of everything that Anson has in here and the names of the shipping companies and the bank accounts he's been using."

"Alrighty then," Sam beamed. "Let's gather up as much as we can and get out of here. I'll call Pearce and she can send a team to clear the rest of this stuff up." He added the documents to the top of the stacked up boxes on the trolley. "

"What about me?" The security guard piped up. "I answered all your questions. You've gotta let me go."

"You're gonna be spending a lotta time answering somebody else's questions," the older man informed him. "That is unless of course you wanna be dropped in some deep dark hole and never be heard from again."

The guy paled and shook his head. "I can't go with you. Anson is crazy, he'll kill me. Hell, if he finds out you've been here, he'll kill you, too. The guy is a class A paranoid. He made it very clear if I ever let anybody in, _or_ try to take anything outta here, even so much as a paper clip, I'm a dead man."

"You don't have a choice." The dark haired man pointed his gun in the guy's face, pressing the end of the barrel in between his eyes.

"Look, fella, I don't want to shoot ya -" Sam came over and gently pushed Michael's hand down until the barrel was pointed at the floor. "But this man here does, so it's in your best interests to do exactly what he says."

"You don't understand, Anson is tracking this stuff. As soon as your guys start taking it out, he'll know."

"Sam, what do you think?"

"Well, you can stick trackers on anything nowadays, so it sounds like a play Anson would make and it explains the lack of security." He gave the guard a knowing look. "But we can't leave it all behind and we can't hang around here all night waiting for a team to get here. So I say we take our chances, Pearce has a detail watching Anson. If he tries anything, he'll get picked up quick enough." Sam shrugged and pushed the trolley towards the doors.

"Wait," Michael called out. "Let's _not_ take any chances. We'll take all the paperwork and samples of the explosives, enough for them to start running tests, and go out the way we came in. Pearce can send her people in to collect the rest."

"You wanna climb back onto the roof? Really, Mike?"

"Really, Sam."

"You heard the man, buddy," he replied, cuffing their prisoner on the shoulder and turning him towards the ropes dangling from the hole in the ceiling. "Upsy daisy you go."

Once they were safely out of the building and Sam and the security guard were off the roof, Michael paused. Ever since he had seen all the weapons, ammunition and explosives stored in the warehouse, he had been thinking about all the death and destruction these things could cause if somehow Anson Fullerton managed to weasel himself out of going to trial or, worse yet, if the psychologist wasn't the last man left.

Ignoring Sam's hissed calls to hurry up and his queries into what the hell he was doing, the spy attached a piece of det cord to a small piece of C4. Then, in one swift move, he lit the cord and threw it back into the building and an instant later rappelled quickly to the ground below.

"Run!" he urged, taking off without another word.

The three men were thrown to the ground by the force of the explosion and their clothing singed by the fireball which followed.

Sitting up, Sam patted out the smouldering material of his cargo pants. "What the hell, Mikey?!" he yelled, his face suffused with shock and anger.

Michael, who had been the only one who had known what was about to happen, was already back on his feet. "I couldn't risk Anson or anybody else getting their hands on any of that stuff. Besides, it sends him a message."

"I thought –?"

"Well, _you_ thought wrong. I'm doing this _my_ way... Pearce can have all the evidence; she can even have Anson after I'm done with him, but first I'm gonna make him suffer for what he's done to me," Michael spat back.

Sam reeled at the venom in his best friend's tone and his heart sunk as he realized the moment he had feared was finally coming to past. Michael had done exactly what he said he would. He had checked out Anson's warehouse and now he was going after the man himself.

"Mike, hey Mikey, calm down." Sam caught hold of his friend's arm to stop him from leaving. "At least help me get this guy and all the evidence we've got to Pearce. We get back to Miami and I'll help you go after Anson. But we've gotta do this right, you've gotta give Pearce a chance to build a case against the bastard."

For a second, he thought the younger man was going to storm off. But, as suddenly as the anger had flared, it was gone. "Okay..." Michael nodded solemnly. "We get back to Miami, hand all this in and _then_ I'm gone."

Sam pursed his lips and then cocked his head to the side. Far off in the distance, but rapidly getting closer, he could see the glimmer of flashing bright lights and hear the faint wail of distance sirens belonging to the emergency vehicles coming their way.

"We'll talk about this later, brother," Sam replied stiffly. "I think we should go _now _before we end up having to answer a lot of awkward questions."

**()()**

This time Michael let Sam drive while he laid his head back and closed his eyes. He would have liked to have gotten some sleep, but there was no way that was going to happen. Every time he closed his eyes, he could see her there waiting for him and his whole being ached to join her. For now the only thing keeping him going was the thought of revenge.

His mom would be fine. She had Nate and the newest addition to the Westen family, little Charlie, to dote on. Besides hadn't he caused her enough pain? If Anson was to believed, it was because of him that his dad was dead and then there was Benny. He hadn't liked the guy, but that didn't mean he had wanted him dead. No, he was pretty sure his family wouldn't miss him. He remembered the slap to his face and the look in his mom's eyes when she ordered him from the house. He could still feel the imprint, even though it had happened days ago.

Then there was Sam. His best friend had found his ideal woman in Elsa Dearbon. But if he continued to hang out with him, Michael knew his best friend would lose the love of his life just as surely as he had lost Fiona.

_You don't get to have it all, the job and the girl. _After all these years, Tom Strickler had been proven right.

He chewed on the knuckles of one hand, wishing for all the world that he had a bottle of scotch in his hand right now. He was on the verge of telling Sam to pull over so he could take over the driving. Alligator Alley was long, flat, mind numbingly boring and, in the pre-dawn darkness, there was nothing out there to offer anything in the way of a distraction.

"Sam," he spoke softly and then, before he could continue, his phone began to ring.

"Michael…" As soon as he heard his name spoken in that soft calm voice, he felt a tidal wave of anger rise up and threaten to drown him. His hand shook as he reached out to tap his friend's arm, mouthing, _"It's Anson,"_ when Sam looked round.

"What do you want?" Michael asked, somehow managing to stay calm, even though under the surface he was raging.

"That was quite the disaster at my warehouse tonight, Michael. I thought we had an understanding. I thought I was very clear about actions having consequences."

"Warehouse?" he asked innocently, determined that it wouldn't be him who lost his temper during this exchange.

"Don't play me for a fool, Michael. I know it was you," Anson replied, his tone that of someone scolding an unruly child.

"Well, in that case, I guess it's over and I'll see you in hell."_ So much for remaining calm…_

"No, Michael, it isn't over. Poor Fiona may have died, but you have other friends – and family too."

"I swear, if you -"

"Yes, yes, _you're_ going to hunt me down. That's why I'm calling, I'm not sure hunting me down should be your first priority."

"Oh, really? Because as of right now, you're my _only_ priority."

Sam had managed to pull the car over and, as soon as the Charger came to a stop, Michael was out of his seat, pacing back and forth.

"No, Michael, you're wrong. You have a far more pressing problem... Daryl Jordan, he's a former patient of mine and an ex-army ranger. I treated him for paranoid schizophrenia. He needed a focus for his violence impulses, so I suggested you. He's on his way to Daytona Beach right now as we speak to address his issues."

Michael felt a cold chill run down his spine. _T__he bastard was threatening his whole family. _"I _swear_ I'm going to dedicate my life into finding you and making you pay!" He snarled into the phone, all pretence of self-control ripped away as the DIA psychologist played with his heart and mind.

"Thinking positively, still focused on your goals I see… But coming after me is only going to cause you more pain, Michael. If you drive on through the night, you _may_ make it in time to save your family. You've already lost Fiona. Do you want to risk losing your mommy, too?"

Michael stared at his cell phone as Anson ended the call. His head was spinning. He looked at Sam, his features stricken. "He's sent psychopath after my family. He knows they're in Daytona… What am I gonna do?"

Without another word, he turned away, staggering further along the side of the road and then bent forward at the waist, as his stomach clenched and bile rose up in his throat. Once he had emptied his stomach, Michael slowly straightened and took a several deep breaths as he took back control. He had pushed and now Anson had pushed right back. He understood clearly now. This was never going to end until one of them was dead.

"Sam, call Pearce. Let her know you'll be bringing in a witness and what we took from the warehouse." He was already glancing up and down the pitch black road trying to get his bearing. "At the next rest stop, you're gonna let me out and I'm going to find a car and head over to Daytona. Hopefully I can get there before -"

Sam was at his side, a large hand resting lightly on his shoulder. "Mike, use your head, you're not thinking clearly. There _are no_ rest stops out here. We need to get this guy into CIA custody. He's the key to the evidence on Anson."

Michael could see the outline of the man's head in the rear glass of the Charger and the small portion of road that its headlights illuminated and reason started to penetrate his mind as he fought against the urge race towards the threat against his family. Sam was right. He was going to have to work with the CIA on this or it all was going to have been for nothing.

"Mike, are you listening to me? _You_ make the call to Pearce while I drive. Tell her to send some men over to Nate's place and call the local PD. She can get people over there quicker than you can drive. She can also order her guys to bring in Anson now that he's made threats against your family…You've got him, brother." He patted his friend on the arm and then escorted the shaken spy back to the Charger. "Think about it. If he's calling you, trying to convince you to back off, it means he's scared. Get in, Mikey, and start dialling, I'll get us back to Miami."

**()()()()()**

The buzzing and clattering noise of her cell phone vibrating its way across the bedside table woke Dani Pearce with a start. Following up a loud groan, she sat up letting the covers fall away from her body as she reached out to pick up the offending piece of technology.

Seeing the name displayed on the face of her cell, all signs of annoyance disappeared.

"Michael," she spoke as soon as she accepted the call. "What are you doing calling at this time -?"

"I just got a call from Anson. He knows we've been in his warehouse. He's sent an ex-Ranger with anger management issues after my family. They're staying in a rental at Daytona Beach. You have to get somebody there, _now._"

Shaking her head as she tried to make sense of what he was saying, she got out of bed and reached for her discarded clothing.

"Calm down, Michael. Where are you?" She smiled briefly as Jesse handed her the garments she was searching for. "Anson called you?" She looked at the clock beside his bed and frowned when she saw it was three AM.

"He's on the move, Dani. You have to tell your team to bring him in and get somebody over to Daytona to protect my family... I'm sending you the address now."

"Let me make some calls. I'll get back to you soon." When Michael hung up without another word, she pressed down on the key to bring up a list of contact numbers and began scrolling through looking for the name she needed.

"What's going on?" Jesse asked, as he continued to pull on his clothes. "Mike in trouble?"

"Yes – maybe... I need to make some calls," she replied. Reaching over, she switched on the bedroom light to make it easier to see what she was doing. "Can you make some coffee? I think we're going to need it."

Before he could answer, her first call was answered. "Agent Lange? It's Pearce, bring in Fullerton now. Yes, now. Do not let him make any calls, secure his home and do a thorough sweep. I want him sitting in an interrogation room within the hour."

She quickly threw on the same clothes she had been wearing the day before, while she tried to come up with somebody she could call to deal with Michael's second request. She was no further along when her cell rang again.

"Ma'am, this is Agent Lange... I don't know how he did it, but Anson Fullerton is gone. We're searching the apartment now, but it looks pretty clean."

Dani stiffened and took a breath. "He got away? He's a psychologist! How did you lose him? I want him found _now_. Tear his place apart. Get the film from every traffic cam within a five mile radius."

"Ma'am, I -"

"Get on with it, Lange! Call me back within the hour with some progress."

Doing her best to maintain control, she left the bedroom and went searching for her shoes in the living room.

"So are you going to fill me in?" Jesse handed her the small cup filled with a strong black coffee.

"Michael and Sam are on their way back from Tampa. But somehow Fullerton found out what they've been up to and he's threatened Westen's family. _Now _my surveillance team informs me that he managed to sneak past them, too. How the hell did he got by somebody like Rebecca Lange I will never know!"

As she spoke, she paced restlessly. "Oh, and Westen wants me to send a protection detail to Daytona to keep his family safe from some psychopath Anson has sent after them only _I don't_ have anybody to send." She stopped walking long enough to sip down the bitter brew in her hand.

"I know somebody in Daytona," Jesse announced. Bringing out his cell, he made for the door leading out onto the third floor apartment's balcony. "Give me second, let me make a call."

Standing outside, Jesse stared down at his phone. It was risk, if anybody saw her... But if Michael lost his family because they had pushed him into acting against Anson, Jesse didn't think he would be able to forgive himself. Without another thought, he dialed the emergency number.

"Hey, it's me. We have a problem…. Yeah, you were right… Anson put a hit out on Maddy and Nate… " As angry as he had been when he discovered Fiona was back, sneaking around Miami, trying to keep tabs on Michael, he had to admit her decision to travel up to Daytona in anticipation of an attack on the the Westen clan had been the right call.

"No, no intel on what's inbound other than it's whacked...yeah, I know you can handle it... Take care and - um –stay safe."

Ending the call, he looked up to see Dani watching him expectantly. "Okay, that's covered, but you still need to call in Daytona PD for back up and to take charge of this huge slice of crazy when-."

"Who –?" Dani jumped on his hesitation.

"A bounty hunter we use sometimes." Jesse replied vaguely. "Please, Dani, just tell the boys in blue to keep their eyes open for friendlies and don't shoot first."

"Fine," she agreed. "But you better hope your friend doesn't cause any incidents because every one of my bosses will line up to kick me for officially using unofficial personnel if this—"

The tall man cupped her shoulders with his large hands and leaned down to kiss her, effectively cutting off her argument. It started slowly and built in passion, until gasping for breath they pulled apart.

"Trust me, Dani," he requested.

With the rest of her calls made, including one to Michael warning him that Anson was on the loose, Agent Pearce led the way out of Mr. Porter's condo and down to the parking lot behind the building.

"We should take our own cars," her companion commented, leaning into to place a kiss on the senior CIA field officer's cheek.

"You're right." She nodded. "No need to broadcast, we - er -" Her finger tips brushed against his arm.

"We'll get through this first and then work on where we're going." He wanted to kiss her again like he had before, but the parking lot of his condo wasn't the place for that regardless of how early it was.

"We'd better get going then." Dani straighten her hair. "I'll meet you at the office."

Jesse waited until she drove away and then went to his own vehicle. Jumping in, he started the Porsche's engine and set off after the government standard issue black GMC. When he had joined Agent Pearce on the private CIA flight to DC, he'd had no idea where their working together was going to lead.

The attraction had been there all along. From the first time they had met on that agency op with Michael in the Bahamas, Mr. Porter had admired the leggy brunette. But he'd never considered a relationship with her. She was older than him, seemed to be career driven and, if there was one thing he didn't want, it was a romantic entanglement with a spy. Yet here they were, after working their second official case together... He grinned stupidly, catching his reflection in his rear view mirror.

It had really started for him on the company jet, watching her handing out orders and taking charge. He had admired the sway of her hips as she has marched up and down the aisle, making sure everything was going to be in place for their arrival, firing questions at her subordinates and answering their queries all with an equal passion.

Once in DC, he had been impressed with the smooth flow of the mission and the way they had easily worked together as they had during their time in the Caribbean. For the very first time, he had gotten a real taste of what had only been hinted at before. He had always been envious of the way Michael and Fiona worked as if one. When on a job, the fiery couple were perfectly in sync and now he knew what it felt like to work together, just the two of them.

They had gone into the law firm after the office had closed, disguised as members of the cleaning staff. Then she had kept watch while he had picked the lock into the records room. Once inside, as he searched through the paper records, Dani had used her skills on the computer to download their client list before joining him in hunting through files which lacked names on the covers.

"Never mind, I have the client list," she had hissed. "We should leave, it's - Oh…." In her hands, she held a file that inside held a photocopy of a passport page and a list of bank accounts.

The photograph was that of Vaughan Anderson.

"Come on, we should go," he'd agreed with a grin. "That should be enough to get the FBI drooling, a terrorist locked up in Gitmo with an active bank account."

Not wanting to have to spend a whole night cleaning an office building, but also not wanting to alert the firm's security to an unauthorized breech, they had sneaked out, avoiding being seen. He guessed it was the thrill of working so well together and succeeding that had led to the kiss that had led to the make out session in her hotel room before they were heading to the commuter airport to return to Miami.

Smiling at the memory of her acceptance to his invitation come back to his place, he hoped he was going to get the chance to share the news with his friends when this was all over. The smiled slipped as he realized that, unless they found Anson quickly, the chances of a happy ending for all of them would be very slim indeed.

Pulling into the underground parking garage, Jesse almost ran to the elevator, just making it in time to join Dani inside.

"I have an idea and you're gonna hate the paper pushing that goes with it, but you should put in a request for Vaughan to be brought back here. If Anson is running that money we got him through Vaughan's accounts, we might just be able to motivate him to spill his guts on what he knows about the bastard."

**()()()()()**

Michael stared out of the wind shield looking at the long, desolate road stretching out ahead; the view was fitting considering his present mood. For all her earlier reassurances, Dani Pearce's top flight surveillance team had managed to lose track of Anson Fullerton. The man had apparently sneaked out of his apartment past three experienced field agents and disappeared into the night.

But that wasn't the the end to the bad news. No, she had then informed him that she didn't have any assets in the Daytona Beach area. Everybody was tied up with either helping capture Anson Fullerton, or working on another job involving a high priority extraction of one Reed Perkins. However, she had been in touch with Jesse Porter and he knew somebody who could keep watch over the Westen family and, if necessary, deal with a psychotic soldier.

"Sam..." _It__ was no good. __H__e couldn't rely on a stranger to keep his family safe. __A__nson was too dangerous and the man he had sent was a former Ranger. _"I can't trust some stranger to protect my mom." He pointed ahead to where there was the soft glow of city lights. "We're coming up on civilization. You should take our friend back there into the CIA while I find a car and head north. I could be in Daytona in a couple of hours."

Sam's jaw tightened and the older man sent him a look of concern. "It would be more like four hours, Mikey, and, no matter how fast you drive, it would be daylight before you got there. Jesse wouldn't send somebody he didn't think was up to the job and the cops'll be there too."

"I still -"

"Look, Pearce is going to want to see _you._ _You're_ her agent in the field." The greying man sighed as he thought about the long day ahead of him. "How about I make the drive? I'll look after your mom and Nate. It'll leave you free to go after Anson."

It didn't take Michael long to choose what to do. "Sure, thanks, Sam."

"Great, so let's go and find me a car." Ahead of them was the off ramp leading to the City of Sunrise and into the massive parking lot of the Sawgrass Mills Mall. Even at this early hour, there were still a variety of vehicles to chose from of those left there overnight.

As soon as the older man brought the Charger to a halt, Michael was out and moving round to take over the driving. "You need me to get you a car first?" he asked.

"No, that's fine, Mikey. I think I can steal my own ride... You get Jake into a nice warm interrogation room and I'll go take another two hundred mile road trip."

**()()()()()**

By the time Michael parked his Charger next to Jesse's silver Porsche, he was close to exhaustion. Dragging Jake the security guard out of the back seat, he then popped the trunk and brought out a large bag containing all the evidence they had collected from the warehouse.

"Here, hold out your arms," Michael ordered.

"Why? Where are we? This ain't no police -"

"Who said anything about cops?" Michael answered and then handed the handcuffed prisoner the bag to carry. "Come on." Taking hold of the man's arm, Michael escorted him over to the elevators.

When they walked into Dani Pearce's outer office, Michael was surprised to see the amount of activity taking place. But instead of stopping to see what they working on, he headed straight towards the senior field agent's door.

"Michael." Agent Pearce smiled up at him as the dark haired man strode through the opening without knocking. "And I see you brought me a present." she continued, glancing at the scruffy looking individual standing at Westen's side.

Michael paused, his eyes taking in every detail of the room, including the sight of Jesse Porter sitting perched on the edge of Dani's desk. Pointedly ignoring the younger man, he turned his attention back to his agency contact.

"Agent Pearce, this is Jake. He was employed to guard Anson Fullerton's armory. Jake, this is Agent Pearce. I'm sure you two will get to know each other really well."

"Michael, where do you think you're going?" Dani called out as the spy, having pushed the security guard further into the room, had turned to leave.

"_I've_ brought you your evidence, _I've _got you a witness. The rest is up to you," he answered flatly. "I'm going to go and find Anson myself."

"Do _you_ remember when you apologized for _lying_ to me for the last six months and then _promised_ to do things my way from now on?" She paused, watching as his body slumped. "I need your report on what happened at that warehouse and then you'll go home. _We'll_ call _you_ when we find Fullerton."

Michael opened his mouth to complain, but he saw the resolute look in the senior agent's eye and thought better of it. He knew the way the game was played and disobeying what passed for a direct order was only going to get him thrown in a cell next to Anson's security guard. So he plastered a fake smile on to his face and nodded.

"Yes ma'am."

Dani wasn't fooled for a second by the smile or the softly spoken words. "Find a space out there and get writing. Oh, where's Axe?"

"I sent him to check on my mom, to make sure she stays safe."

"Good. That should keep him out of trouble... Get writing that report, Westen, and then we can sit and go through it." She gave him her own version of a toothy smile.

Jesse waited until Dani had sent Michael's prisoner off to an interrogation room and had arranged for the explosives to be tested to see if their chemical signature matched any of the bombs used in the British consulate bombing before approaching her.

"That was a bit harsh, wasn't it?" He nodded towards where his friend sat hunched over a desk writing down the details of the Tampa mission.

"Better he's in here filling out reports than out there on his own tearing up Miami," she replied and then moved closer. "Are you going to tell me what happened between the two of you?"

"Ah, it's nothing much, just a little misunderstanding which I hope will be sorted out very soon."

"You're as bad as he is, you know that?" the dark haired woman complained.

"It's personal, Dani. Let it go. Please?"

When he looked at her that way, with his big brown puppy dog eyes, the hardened CIA operative felt her heart melt. _This was no good. This man was going to cause her all sorts of trouble._

"Well, if you won't answer my questions, how do you feel about helping me with Anson's security guard? I'd like to hear what he has to say before I do Michael's debrief."

**()()()()()**

Daryl Johnson was a cold blooded machine, filled with anger and hatred. For a long time, ever since the mission which had seen his whole team killed, that hatred had been directed at himself. He had made a fatal error of judgement which had led to his men being brutally cut down.

But Dr Fullerton had shown him the truth, had brought in files which had shown him how the greed of a spy, now thankfully burned, had been the real cause for the death of his team. Michael Westen had given away intelligence which had gotten American soldiers killed. Yet the traitor had never been punished. Well, that was what he was going to do. He was there to make the man suffer; he was going to kill his whole family, who had thoughtfully gathered in one place.

In the pre-dawn light, he cut the telephone lines and set up a frequency jammer which would black any calls for help. He fixed his bullet proof vest in place. Tightening the straps and then picking up his guns, he walked resolutely towards the house containing Madeline, Nate and Ruth Westen.

The large white panel van parked in the street looked out of place. But with the back doors open, he could see it was empty, so he was unconcerned. He scanned the pavement and spotted a small woman walking towards him holding a large potted plant in front her. Bare legs, bare arms dressed in tight shorts and sleeveless top, he dismissed the woman as harmless and assumed her field of vision blocked by the ferns. He didn't even bother hiding his weapons.

She walked past him without seeming to notice him at all and then he heard a couple of soft pops. Pain ripped through his lower body as he collapsed in a heap, though his pain didn't last long as the large planter came down on his head.

The tiny auburn haired woman took a hasty look up and down the street before taking hold of the man by the vest and dragging him towards the back of the open van.

Ten minutes later, the van drove away and there wasn't a single piece of evidence left to say anything untoward had happened on the quiet suburban street.

**()()()()()**

"Michael..."

He sat up with a start, his eyes wide and filled with confusion. "What? Yea, I'm awake..."

"Sorry, but I thought you should know, Jesse's friend in Daytona has neutralized the man sent by Anson. I don't have any more news for you at the moment, but your family is safe. They don't even know they were ever in danger. I'm making arrangements for them to be taken into protective custody until this is over."

Michael blinked away the moisture building in his eyes and turned away from the tall dark haired woman who stood beside him. Wiping away the sign of his weakness with a brush of his hand, he got to his feet and placed his other hand over the pile of paper in front of him.

"My mission report."

"Thank you. We'll go through it later. For now, you're going home and getting some rest."

"I'm fine, honestly." He made an effort to stand up straighter and look more alert. But it didn't work.

"Michael, you fell asleep at your desk. I'm sending you home. When was the last time you slept?"

"I can manage, I've stayed up longer than this." He brushed aside her sympathy and understanding. It wasn't what he wanted.

"Maybe so, but I'm sending _everyone_ home who's worked through the night. There's nothing else for us to do until we've sorted through all the evidence or until Fullerton comes out of whatever hole he is hiding in."

"How about I take -" He didn't want to go home. At that moment, he was willing to do anything to stay away from the loft.

"No, you're too tired to be any good. Come on," She added the command as she took hold of his arm and pulled him towards the elevators. "No more arguments."

They travelled down to the parking levels in silence, Dani keeping an eye on her newest asset. She could guess what he was going through and longed to reach out to him. He was completely alone and, from his manner, close to breaking. She didn't know what had caused the rift between him and Jesse, but she had a pretty good idea it had something to do with how Fiona Glenanne had died. With Sam away for the time being, it meant that the grieving spy would be all alone _for awhile _and she knew what that was like all too well and it was not good.

Once they approached their cars, which fortunately no longer included the silver Porsche, she coughed softly to clear her throat. "Michael..."

He wasn't sure what got his attention more, her tone or the fact that she had taken to calling by his first name ever since...

"If you want to talk about anything... I think this is something I could help you with. When my fiancée was killed -"

"I -Dani, I can't talk about it..." he muttered, staring at the ground, his voice nearly breaking from unshed tears. "She – I wasn't there." He sniffed and, when he spoke again, she could barely hear him. "I should have listened to her. I should never -"

She could hear the recrimination in his voice and knew it was her duty to pull him back from the edge.

"Michael, I want you to listen to me. You have a job to do -"

His head snapped up at that. His eyes were bright, a terrifying mixture of anger and hopelessness. "Yeah, that's what we tell ourselves, isn't it? We have a job to do. That's what I told her over and over until-" He dropped his head again and choked back a sob.

Not sure what do at first, Dani Pearce took a hesitant step forward and laid a hand on his bicep.

"I know, Michael," she told quietly. "I know. Go get some rest. We'll need you to make sure we bury that sonuvabitch."

He nodded mutely, chewing his lower lip and getting himself back under control. "I'll see you in the morning," he said hoarsely, stepping towards the Charger.

"I'll see you when you get here," she countered moving towards her vehicle. "Get some rest," she repeated.

And since he considered that an order, he made a quick stop at the nearest liquor store on his way to the loft to ensure he was indeed able to rest.

**()()()()()()()()**

_He was walking through a field, wild flowers dotting the landscape at odd intervals. The air was alive with the sounds of life everywhere, birds singing, insects chattering and a cool breeze wafted through the meadow and filtered through his long, black hair. _

He knew he was really back in the loft, curled in a ball clutching Fiona's pillow on his empty bed, the whisky long gone and his mind wrapped in a pleasant haze. But the dream was warm and numbing and that's all he could ask for right now.

_He continued on his way around the edge of the stone wall towards a small copse of trees which would lead him back onto the road and back, he suddenly realized, to the Fiona's mother's home._

_Recognizing where he was, he made his way in between the trees and out the other side. There, down a narrow, overgrown track in a small hollow, was an old wooden hay barn that was nearly empty now. But long ago, on a Christmas night, it had made a cozy, warm shelter from the cold night air. _

_As he approached the barn, he saw a group of children playing with a litter of kittens while the mother cat sat off to the side watching. He picked up the pace when he saw the lone figure step out of the barn with a fluffy bundle of fur in her hands that was by its markings another Belgium shepherd, another pup that would grow up to guard the Glenanne family._

_She put the animal down when she saw him and they ran towards one another, embracing desperately when they came together, the world seeming to spin around them like an __out of control _carousel.

"_Took ya long enough t'git har. I wa' beginnin' ta t'ink ya dinnae need me."_

"_I need you, Fi," he croaked out. "Now, more than ever." He couldn't stop the tears from falling as he clutched her tightly to his body. "Stay, please, stay."_

_She held him tighter in return as he buried his face into her hair, into her neck._

"_Sleep, Michael, sleep. This'll all be jus' a bad dream soon..."_

And sleep he finally did.


	6. 601 My Island in the Sun - Part 3

**A/N: **First of all we would like to thank you all for the reviews so far for this series of stories we appreciate each and everyone. Also thanks go out to our friends the amazing Amanda Hawthorn and the wonderful Daisy Day and all the Burner girls on Twitter and Facebook.

This is the final part in our version of the season 6 _première. Tomorrow there will be a new chapter of the companion story "Reconnecting" on the M page and next Monday the first part of our alternate S5 première will be posted here on the main page._

**()()()()()**

**PUPPIES, KITTENS & GUN TOTING BABIES**

**6.01 – This is My Island in the Sun – Part 3**

_An alternate S6 première following on from 5.16 – Depth Perception._

_**()()()()()**_

"Jeez, Fiona, what the hell did you do to the guy?"

It had taken Sam Axe four hours to get from the Sawgrass Mills Mall parking lot to the Sunshine Motel on the outskirts of Daytona. Four hours of driving fast through the slowly increasing early morning traffic, hoping and praying the whole way he was doing the right thing. He had little confidence in Michael continuing to do the right thing when left on his own _and if Anson Fullerton made another phone call w__hile Michael was alone..._

_And now this..._

Daryl Jordan, former army ranger and psychiatric patient, was lying unconscious slumped in a cheap rate motel bath tub with two black eyes, a broken nose and a long deep gash across his forehead. However, those were only minor injuries compared to the state of his two shattered knees.

"That piece of scum was on his way to assassinate Madeline, Nate and that wife of his - _I_ think he got what he deserved, Sam." Fiona pushed by the older taller man so she could get a better look at the victim of her handiwork. "Besides, it's not as bad as it looks, honestly. I used half power rounds, so he'll be able to walk…eventually… and look I've dressed his wounds and I've given him enough drugs to knock out an elephant, so he's not in any pain."

Sam sighed and turned away, going back into the only other room. He was too tired to remonstrate with the Queen of the Lucky Charms over her gun toting psychotic little ways; he had something far more important to discuss with her.

"Well, he's out of it for now, so until I'm ready to go, he can stay there." He shut the door to the bathroom and then slumped down on the nearest of the two double beds in the room. "What I want to hear, sister, is your explanation for putting Mike through hell... _Do you _have any idea how bad he's takin' your _death_? He nearly killed Jesse."

She leaned back against the bathroom door, her arms folding over her chest in defiance. "Well, somebody had to do sommit," she shot back. "Or were we just going to stand back and watch that bastard lead Michael straight inta hell?"

"I don't know, Fi... But this, what we're doin', is wrong."

"You _all_ told me what a bad idea it was to run. Michael would _never_ stand for me handing myself in. So, what other choice did I have, _Sam_? _Please,_ tell me, what else could I do?" she gesticulated wildly.

"Well, not this, lady. Do you even have the slightest idea what this is doing to him, to all of us?"

"He wa' turnin' inta a monster an' ya war all jus' standin' around helpin' ham! Well, I couldnae take it anymore!" she'd shouted back at him, losing her composure as well as her American accent. "I won' let it happen, d'ya hear me, Sam? I won' let thot bastid control ham a moment longer." She smashed the heel of her foot against the door behind her to make her point and then, just as fast as her temper had erupted, she calmed down and fell back against the bathroom door, angrily wiping away a tear before folding her arms once more across her chest.

He'd been shocked by her outburst and the urge to get up and offer some comfort was almost overwhelming. She looked so small standing against the door, her arms crossed protectively over her body. But as she'd looked at him through narrowed tear-filled eyes, he had thought better of it. He had once seen an injured panther when sneaking through the Bolivian jungle which had looked friendlier than Fiona Glenanne did at that moment.

"If I hadnae forced yar hand, how far would ya have let ham go, Sam?" she'd suddenly asked. "How bad would t'ings had ta have gotten befer ya acted? He helped a traitor hide his identity, he got me an' Jesse ta blackmail a banker ta get tha bastid his money. Whot wa' next? Steal some secrets? Kill somebody? Mabbe burn another spy, how about Pearce? She'd make a pretty target fer ham, dontcha t'ink? A senior C.I.A field officer...Would thot have been enough fer ya?"

He'd been unable to answer her accusations because, in all honesty, he had no answer. Anson Fullerton was like a slow moving plague; his attacks on Michael's integrity were so insidious, it was hard to say where exactly the line was any more.

When she realized he wouldn't, or rather couldn't, answer her, she'd pushed off the wall and walked over to the kitchenette. Her movements still fueled by anger and frustration. "So, how is he really?"

Her American accent came back as she took back control of her emotions even though her voice was still shaky.

"He's drinking himself into a stupor just so he can sleep and when he's awake - to be honest, I think the only thing keeping him going is the thought of taking out Anson and then going after _your killers_."

He'd heard her sniff and then watched as she finished making two cups of tea before turning to face him, her face lined with sadness. "You look like shit. Drink this and get a couple of hours sleep before we head back. Sleeping beauty in thar ain't goin' nowhere. He'll be out for hours."

"_We__?!_ Oh no, sister, it was bad enough Mikey nearly recognizing you after that stunt in Naples. What happens if Pearce spots you? If she thinks for one minute she's getting played again, that'll be it. It won't matter if Mike ends up hating all of us, because we'll all be locked up in some CIA prison."

"I intend to be there when Michael takes down Anson," she said, smiling sweetly. "I promise I won't be seen, but I _will_ be there. So, I either travel back with you, at least part of the way, or I can find my own way back to Miami... Take your pick."

The hard glint in her eye and the stubborn look on her face had told him this was a fight he was going to lose. So he took the only course left open to him. Smiling back, ever gracious in defeat, he'd eased himself fully onto the bed and lie back. "Well, if you're coming back with me, you're doin' all the driving, Tinkerbell."

**()()()()()**

It was just after four o' clock in the afternoon when Sam finally managed to get back to the loft. He had traveled back from Daytona with Fiona behind the wheel and the injured hit man, still drugged up and cable tied, dumped out of sight in the trunk.

When they had reached Little Haiti, Fiona had pulled off the I-95 and jumped out next to a small strip mall. "I have a storage locker nearby where I keep me big toys. Keep Michael safe and keep me informed and, Sam, be good... I will be watchin'." And then before he could reply, she had gone, striding away as if she didn't have a care in world.

"You sure can pick 'em, Mikey..." he had grumbled at her retreating back.

Twenty five minutes later, he had pulled into the CIA underground parking garage, handing over Anson Fullerton's hit man to an angry looking Agent Pearce and a heavily armed tactical team. The slender dark haired woman had stared through narrowed eyes as Daryl Jordan had been carefully removed from the trunk of Sam's stolen car and placed on the cold hard floor.

"Ah, yeah, well, guess he's a little banged up." He had understated situation with an easy smile on his lips. Unfortunately for Sam, Dani Pearce had seen nothing to smile about.

"What happened? Did _you_ do this?" she'd snapped as Jordan was being strapped to a hurriedly supplied stretcher by two CIA medics.

"Not me, this was how I found him." He'd brushed off her concerns for the injured assassin. Then Sam had realized that neither of his friends had been present. "Say, where's Mike and Jess? I thought they'd be down here to meet the guy who wanted to kill Mikey's mom."

"Jesse had to go in to work this morning and Michael was exhausted. I sent him home earlier this morning when there was nothing to more to do and _now_ you've brought me a prisoner _who may_ hold valuable intelligence we could use, _except he's too sedated to speak to anyone_."

"Look, lady, you'll have to take that up with Jesse about how _his_ contact chooses to deliver prisoners. The guy was gonna to massacre Mike's whole family. How did you think he was going to be stopped? With a few kind words and a pretty please?!"

Sam had pulled himself together after that outburst. Somebody had to keep thinking straight with all the craziness going on amongst his friends and it looked like he was the only one up for the job.

"Ya got your prisoner and now I'm gonna check on Mikey." And with that, he had slammed the trunk shut and driven away.

Now he was standing at the top of the metal staircase, staring at his friend's door and wondering what he was going to find inside.

When Sam stepped through the door, the first thing that hit him was the smell of stale liquor. Pursing his lips, he closed the door and moved across the room, worried that his none too quiet entry _hadn't_ disturbed the man on the bed in the least. His buddy should've had a gun pointed at his head already.

After satisfying himself Michael was still breathing, he leaned down and picked up the empty bottle which had fallen onto the floor, presumably when the younger man had finally passed out and tried to drop it in to the trash.

Wiping a hand over his forehead, he sucked in a deep breath and moved back over to the bed. It was time to wake up Michael and put him back to work.

"Hey, Mikey! Wakey, wakey, rise an' shine, brother." He forced the cheerfulness into his voice and hardened his heart as he pulled the pillow Michael was cradling out of his arms.

The spy groaned and batted away the large hand which shook his shoulder.

"Go away, Sam," he grumbled into his bed covers.

"Not happening, fella. You gotta get up. C'mon, you need to take a shower and get dressed before we go and dump my ride and get you something to eat." To make his point, he took hold of the arm that was trying to knock him away. "Dammit, Mike, I didn't drive all the way back from Daytona in a stolen car with a body in the trunk to find you lying down on the job."

At the mention of a body in the trunk of a stolen car, the younger man sat up, whimpering and clutching at his head, as he made it to an upright position.

"You need to quit this drinking yourself into dreamland, Mikey. Your body isn't used to the abuse. You keep this up and you won't make it to the finishing line and, from what I've heard, Anson has nowhere left to run. It's just a matter of time until he's found."

"I'll believe it when it happens," Michael replied miserably. "What's this about a body? Did Jesse's guy -?"

"I got to the meeting spot and Jordan was all trussed up waiting for me. I tell ya, Mikey, if the guy wasn't a psycho killer in league with an evil genius, I'da felt kinda sorry for him. Jesse's contact did a real number on him. Anson's hitman's gotta busted up face and had his knees shot to pieces."

"How?" Michael winced as he tried to become more engaged in the conversation. "Pearce told me he was taken down quietly, that the first my family was gonna know about it was when they get taken into protective custody." If at all possible, Michael's pasty complexion paled even further. "My phone – has my mom called?" He patted his hands over his pants and pulled out his phone to find no missed calls.

Sam saw the look of disappointment and shook his head in silent sympathy for his best friend. Madeline Westen was one woman who knew how to hold a grudge.

"She'll get over it, brother. Your mom is one tough lady, she'll work it out. You were only trying to protect her." As soon as he said it, he knew he had made a mistake as Michael suddenly choked and got to his feet, staggering away towards the bathroom.

"I couldn't protect -" Michael slammed the door behind him and then all Sam could hear was the whooshing of running water as the shower was switched on.

**()()()()()**

Throwing the bathroom door shut with a bang, Michael twisted the taps which sent water cascading down from the shower head into the bathtub below. His hands shook as he tore his clothes from his body.

_He would not let thoughts of - her fill his head. He had a job to do, a mission to complete. He would not, could not let - her, let F-._

He gulped, and wiped a hand over his eyes. _She was gone, Fiona, his Fi-. _A choking sob escaped from between his tightly pursed lips and his body convulsed. But he pulled himself back. _I will not think about this now. I can't - _He sniffed and drew in a shuddering breath. _He had a job to do. He would just think about the job._

Climbing under the hot water, he let the heat wash away the pain. Closing his eyes, he pushed back the image of Fiona in his mind. _Soon, soon, I'll be able to bring you back, I'll keep you alive... I'll- I'll get out, I'll leave the agency... I'll -._

He thought about the barn where his dreams had taken him the night before, he thought about Ireland, about their first night and their last and about every place they had visited, every piece of mayhem they created, each day and night they spent together. He let the myriad of memories linger just for a millisecond before carefully storing them away. _First Anson, then the men who cut you down, then -?_ He let the emptiness settle over him. _Then, then - I'll think about it later._

By the time he climbed out from under the water, he was back in control. The wall he had put up around his emotions was fragile, but he would do whatever it took to make sure it held. _First Anson, then the men who killed her...that was all that mattered._

He walked back into the loft with just a towel around his waist and another in his hand as he rubbed his hair dry.

"You feelin' better now?" Sam asked from where he lounged against the counter top.

"I'm fine," Michael replied automatically, not even having to think about his answer. _He was always fine_.

Padding across to the wardrobe they had shared, he paused, his hand brushing over the small metal handle. Closing his eyes, he opened the door and just by memory pulled out the first suit his hand touched upon.

Dropping the hanger on the bed, he went over to a chest of drawers and again paused. _There was too much of her, of Fi-, of her stuff for him to concentrate._

He glanced over to where his friend sat calmly sipping on a beer. _He could have sworn earlier, when he was sitting on the bed talking to Sam, he had caught the faintest whiff of her perfume. _He frowned. _He had to put a stop to this. He needed to get outside and away from anything that reminded him of what he had lost. He had a job to do._

"I've got ya a bottle of water and a couple of Aspirin over here. You need to hydrate, brother." Sam calling out from across the loft dragged him out of the pit of despair he was about to step into.

Michael blinked and then turned to flash his friend a half-hearted smile. "I'll come and get it in a minute. Let me get dressed first, 'kay?"

"Sure thing, Mike." He glanced at his watch. "I tell you what, how about after we get rid of my stolen car and we head over to the Chadwick. You can order something to eat from room service and I can have a shower and get outta these..."

Michael held up a hand as his phone began to ring and the way the younger man's skin paled caused the older one to stop talking.

"Michael, I called to congratulate you on your quick thinking, managing to neutralize Mr. Jordan, while you were still hundreds of miles away. You really do live up to your reputation for having an exceptional ability to improvise and it is that ability which I wish to utilize for a short while."

While he listened to Anson's speech, Michael watched as Sam grabbed up his own cell phone and put a call through to Pearce.

"You tried to kill my family. What makes you think I'll forget it all and help you? It's because of you that -"

"No, Michael, what happened to Ms. Glenanne cannot be laid at _my_ door. If _anybody_ is to blame, it _has_ to be Mr. Porter. He _failed _to give her proper covering fire. _He's_ the one who left her to die and _he's_ the one who ran all the way back to Miami without her body."

Michael closed his eyes and drew in a sharp breath. He was not going to let the creep on the other end of the line get to him. "You didn't call to talk to me about Jesse. What is it you want, Anson?"

"I need you and your remarkable skill set to get me out of the country, preferably to somewhere without an extradition treaty with the US. Now, before you say no, I want you to understand. _I want_ you to remember you have other friends. Sam Axe is facing a very serious investigation. I believe he is being accused of spying for Russia. I can make those accusations disappear."

"You're the one who -" Michael began to say hotly, but he was interrupted.

"You know, Michael, it's a shame no one ever let the authorities know what was going on in your home when you were growing up."

"What's that got to do with anything?" Mr. Westen countered.

"All the yelling, the screaming, all the abuse you had to endure as a child. Your mother was always very keen to avoid having the Department of Children and Families get involved in your lives, wasn't she?"

"Still waiting for you to get to a point, Anson…" Michael caught Sam's signal to put the call on loud speaker and keep the evil mastermind talking.

"What I'm trying to say is that I'm sure Madeline knew what would happen if you and your brother were ever taken from her. You would have ended up in foster care, wouldn't you? Split up, bounced around... why you might even have ended up somewhere worse than your own home. I'd hate to see something like that happen to Charlie. I mean, he's so young and defenseless and who knows what could happen to him if, oh say, someone were to call and mention your brother's alcohol and gambling problems... Who knows what else might come up in that conversation? Did he ever explain why he had to leave Las Vegas in such a hurry?"

"Just stay away from my family. If you..."

"Me, Michael? Really, I'm just pointing out what could happen if you don't solve my travel problems. I want you to think about what could happen to Charlie once he's in DCF protective custody. Have you heard all the horror stories? Some of those people are really incompetent. I'd really hate to see your nephew become one of those statistics, one of those poor infants who die in DCF custody each year when they are supposed to be protecting them."

"This has to be a new low for you, using a child?"

"_You're_ the one making me resort to this, Michael. _All_ I'm asking for is a little bit of help and in return I promise to be gone from your life for good. _I don't_ want to hurt anyone. Now, meet me in twenty minutes by the fountain in Bayfront Park and come alone. If I see anybody who even looks like one of your friends or CIA, Charlie gets to spend his first birthday in foster care and Sam Axe will get to spend the rest of his life in prison. Twenty minutes, don't be late, Michael."

He stared at his phone, his mind rapidly running through all the possibilities. Was this ever going to end? He was moving without conscious thought, grabbing up his keys and sunglasses and running for the door.

_He wasn't going to go through this again, he couldn't. He was going to end Anson, he would call his mom, call Nate tell them to pack their bags and get out of the state... Sam, Sam, okay Sam would have to come with them. He would make it right, once Anson was dead, he would..._

"Mikey! For Christ sake, Mike, hold up!" Sam roared, giving chase.

A mixture of his friend shouting out and the bright sunlight hitting his sensitive eyes caused Michael to come to a brief stop on the staircase leading down to his car. The strong firm grip on his arm held him back from continuing the descent.

"Mike, where are you going? Please tell me you're not thinking meeting that bastard without back up."

"Let go, Sam. I have to do this, I have to -" He pulled free from Sam's grip and ran the rest of the way down the steps, only coming to a stop when he realized he wasn't going to be able to leave until Sam moved his "borrowed" car.

"Sam, get that heap outta the way," he growled, glancing down at his watch. _This was wasting valuable time._

"Calm down and breathe, brother." Sam stood in front of him. "I don't know what you've got planned, but I heard that call. You gotta slow down. It's gonna take Pearce at least half an hour to get her team together and into place."

Michael swallowed thickly and took a deep breath before giving his friend a cold hard stare. "You heard him. He's going to use Charlie, he's not even a year -"

"Hey, this is what I mean, Mikey. You're not thinking clearly, Anson's threats against your brother and nephew don't mean squat. They're in federal protective custody, DCF can't touch them. They're safe and sound."

"But-" Slowly Michael relaxed and the tension drained, leaving him with only the pounding headache from his hangover. "What about you? You heard -"

Sam grinned and shook his head. "When I called Elsa and told her about the whole being accused of spying for the Russians thing, do you know what she did?"

Michael shook his head, albeit slowly and painfully.

"She put a call through to some fancy law firm in DC. They're already working on proving me innocent. Anson is going down. All you have to do is keep him there until Pearce and her team can get there to arrest him."

"He's probably gotta team of his own, Sam. There's no telling..."

Sam slammed his hand down on the hood of the Charger. "He's got no money, it's all been taken away from him, even the stuff Jesse and Fi stole back for him. Pearce took care of that. He had one guy, _one untrained guy,_ to watch his weapons store and he hadda use a psychiatric patient to do a hit. Fullerton is done. If he had his own team, would he be calling _you_ for favors?"

Biting down on his lower lip, Michael thought about what his friend was telling him and slowly nodded. "Okay, you're right. Follow me to Biscayne and back me up until Pearce gets there with her team."

"We're gonna finish it, brother." Sam beamed and patted his friend on the arm. "You're gonna get to bring him in." He pushed the younger man towards the door of his car. "Get goin' and just remember you have to keep him in the park until the CIA arrive." As soon as Michael climbed into the Charger, Sam ran round to move his stolen ride out of the way.

**()()()()()**

As soon as his friend sped away, Sam got his phone. "Fi, where are ya, sister?"

"I'm watching Michael break several traffic laws. What's going on?" came the dry response.

"Get your ass over to Bayfront Park, he's meeting up with Anson now... And, listen lady, get up high and take your rifle with you. Mike's gonna need all the back-up we can give him."

"On my way, Sam."

With the call made, Sam drove off straight out onto NW 5th Avenue until he reached US 1.

**()()()()()**

Michael didn't even bother doing a lap through the small lot located directly across from Bayfront Park looking for a space. He pulled the Charger onto the flat concrete curb area between the decorative potted palms with a squeal of protesting tires. Getting a ticket or getting his car towed were the least of his worries right now. He wove through the nearly rush hour traffic on Biscayne Boulevard amid a chorus of horns and curses heading towards the park. His hangover symptoms and everything else were dismissed into the background, as he could only think that he was one step closer to completing his mission.

Once in the park, Michael glanced at his watch. He still had a few minutes left until Anson's deadline. He sped up as he caught sight of the large circular fountain and then he spotted his target sitting calmly on one of the green metal benches surrounding it. The moustache was gone, as was the business suit he normally wore to their meetings, but there was no mistaking the blond windblown hair or the calm smug look of superiority.

From the second he saw Anson Fullerton, Michael developed tunnel vision as he zeroed in on the man who had ripped his life apart. Increasing his pace until he running, he pushed by the civilians who blocked his path. The only sound he could hear was the rushing of his own blood.

By the time his tormentor realized something was wrong, that the man he had so successfully manipulated up until now was barrelling at him, Dr. Fullerton barely had time to get to his feet before Michael's fist connected with the solid jaw of his enemy, knocking the older man onto the hard pavement in front of him.

The shouts and screams of passers-by meant nothing to him as he kicked out, knocking the gun Anson had just draw out of his hand and then he was on him.

Michael's soul sung out as he knelt astride his foe, pounding blow after blow into the man's face and upper body. The satisfying thud of his knuckles connecting with flesh felt intoxicating, as did the sight of all the damage he was inflicting on the evil sadistic sonuvabitch who had driven him to this level of vengeance.

"WESTEN! WESTEN! STAND DOWN!"

Michael was so wrapped up in taking his revenge that the orders shouted out by Agent Dani Pearce meant nothing to him. He was barely aware that the senior field officer and her team had shown up and were now surrounding them.

"Michael! Let him go, brother, we got him. You got him! You can stop now!" Sam's voice finally broke through the barrier of hate and Michael ceased his assault and backed off.

As soon as Anson felt the attack stop, he scrabbled backwards, scooting across the pavement on his back like some bizarre crab, and reaching into his pocket before any of the armed men surrounding him could advance on him.

"Back off," he panted and then caught his breath. "I SAID BACK OFF!"

He lurched upright, blood trickling down his rapidly swelling face. Raising his hand, he let them all see the remote trigger switch in his hand. Spitting out several tooth fragments, Anson cleared his voice.

Agent Pearce signalled her team to form a loose semi-circle around their target, but not to approach him any closer.

"This is a dead man's switch. I rewired the detonator just in case something like this happened," he gasped the words out. "Just in case you didn't come alone."

Michael stared at the device clutched tightly in the psychologist's hand. Running his tongue over his suddenly very dry lips, he shifted his feet preparing to pounce at the first opportunity.

"Do you hear that sound, Michael?" Anson was concentrating solely on the man who had ruined all his plans. "That is the sound of Music Appreciation Day for Dade County Schools. Right now, there are hundreds of children from a dozen local elementary schools sitting in the amphitheater just in front of you, listening to Bach if I'm not mistaken."

"Doctor Fullerton, stop talking and disarm the device. You are under arrest," Agent Pearce interrupted.

But Anson didn't even bother to acknowledge her presence. "All those carefree children, enjoying a day in the park, wouldn't it be a shame if I stopped applying the 12.5 lbs of pressure required by the trigger? Just think about that, Michael, Agent Pearce, just think about all those sweet innocent lives wiped out in a second... When the screaming stops, you'll be scraping pieces of those children off the ground and out of the trees. It's your choice, capture me or save all those innocent kids and their teachers. NOW BACK -."

Nobody heard the shot which cut off Anson's speech before he could finish. All everybody saw was the surprised look on his face and the small hole in the center of his forehead. The agents behind the former DIA employee were knocked off their feet and sprayed with concrete and brain matter from the hole the bullet had opened up in the pavement as well as the back of his skull.

As his body began to fall, Michael leapt forward and grabbed hold of the dead man's hand, keeping it tightly wrapped around the trigger switch. While Sam and Jesse scanned the surrounding buildings searching for the hidden sniper, Agent Pearce was ordering the uninjured members of her team to search for the shooter and calling for emergency services for those who had been hurt. The senior field agent was also praying that whoever it was only had the one target and was being very grateful no one else had been killed besides that target thus far.

**()()()()() **

After taking Sam's call, Fiona Glenanne knew exactly what she was going to do and how she was going to accomplish her task. During her early years in Miami on the long boring evenings when she had nothing else to do, she sometimes entertained herself by running scenarios for bank robberies and assassinations. _After all, a girl has to practice her skills and it wasn't as if she ever acted out these scenarios._

She would spend her time checking out bank security systems and finding the best sniper perches all over Miami for all sorts of targets. One of those perches gave her a perfect line of sight over Bayfront Park, the amphitheater and that part of the shoreline was on top of the Intercontinental Hotel.

By the time she reach her destination and had her Hecate II sniper rifle set up, she stared through the scope just in time to watch Michael tearing apart the DIA psychologist, Doctor Anson Fullerton. The sight warmed her heart and she smiled broadly. The only thing which would make the experience better was to be down there herself instead of squinting through a telescopic scope.

When Agent Pearce came running up on the scene, Fiona readied herself. There was no way on earth the soul destroying bastard far below was going to get the chance of talking his way out of a death sentence.

She saw him holding up a device and didn't care. If she hit him just right it wouldn't matter and she knew she could make the shot. Centering herself, she took a breath and, as she let it out slowly, her finger squeezed the trigger. She watched Anson die, his brain totally destroyed by the .50 caliber cartridge she had used and his hand subsequently frozen around the detonator.

Grinning like a devil and with all the weight of the world lifted off her shoulders, she packed away her rifle and fled the scene. Nobody suspected the slender woman in the floaty green and white summer dress lugging a heavy bag out of a four star hotel was anything more than a guest checking out.

**()()()()()**

Four long hours spent answering questions on the failed arrest and subsequent assassination of Anson Fullerton had finally led to Michael, Sam and Jesse all being released and being told not to leave Miami until after the investigation was closed. All three men had been in plain sight when the shot had come, so none of them had been suspected of firing the fatal shot. Secretly Dani had informed them all that the case was to be quietly closed. It was in no one's interest to dig too deeply into what Anson and his illegal organization was up to.

Before they had left the CIA field office, Michael had stood to one side while Sam had a few quiet words with Jesse, the two men talking in in little more than a whisper for several minutes until Michael coughed loudly.

"I'll to speak to you later, Jess'. Take care, brother."

"Sure thing, Sam. Mike, do you think -"

Michael had turned away, ignoring the younger man. He still couldn't get away from the fact that Jesse had left Fiona alone. He had never thought of him as a coward to run away like that and his loyalty had never been doubted before this. But thinking about what certainly felt like Jesse's betrayal had been too hard at that moment. Maybe once he had found out exactly what had happened, then he would be able to work on forgiving Mr Porter.

As soon as they had driven out of the large underground parking garage, Michael had leaned over to the glove compartment and brought out a new cell phone. Then, under Sam's disapproving eye, he had made a phone call organizing a black flight for himself over to Grand Cayman.

"You know Pearce is going to have a fit when she discovers you've fled the country," Sam had started to complain as soon as they walked into the loft and he kept going while Michael had gathered together all the equipment together he'd thought he might need for a long protracted mission.

"Okay, I understand why you want to do this, but can't you at least leave it for a few days? Wait for the CIA to clear you of all blame, _then_ we can all fly out together."

Michael had flashed him a quick look at the word _"together,"_ but it hadn't slowed him down as he'd added a Mac 10 along with five clips to his stash of weaponry.

Finally, Sam had realized he only had one choice. It was a card he only ever played in dire circumstances. He'd walked across and blocked the exit. If Michael wanted to leave, he would have to go through him.

"Look, you shouldn't go off on your own and leaving the country when you've been ordered to stay put. It is like begging the CIA to throw you in a pit. It just makes you look guilty, brother."

Finally with his bags packed, Michael had spoken up. "Move, Sam."

"Two days, Mikey, that's all I'm asking. I've gotta travel to DC in the morning to see Elsa's lawyer friend. But in two days I can come with you, we can hunt for Fi's killers together."

"This is something I have to do alone, Sam. Now stand aside. If you're my friend, stand aside and let me do this."

Sam had pursed his lips. He had taken it as far as he could without starting a fight. He had moved to one side and opened the door. "Alright, at least let me see ya off. I'll feed Pearce some bullshit about you going to the Everglades to decompress or something, to keep her off your back. But come back soon, huh?"

Michael had nodded and offered up a small smile. "Thanks, Sam."

And that was how former Commander Axe ended up watching his friend leave. They had walked out onto a floating dock on the edge of a canal towards a midnight blue cigarette boat. Sam had handed the heavy bags down once his friend had climbed into the vessel that would take the grim dark haired man to the waiting seaplane which would take him over to the Caymans.

As the boat engine roared, Sam pressed a key on his cellphone. "I tried to slow him down, sister, but he's going tonight. You better get back to Georgetown before he tears that island paradise apart single handed... And good luck, cuz I think you're gonna need it."

**()()()()()**

_Three days, three lousy days later and his patience was running out. He was beginning to think he was going to have to "shake things up," as Larry would have put it. But Larry Sizemore was dead, just like Fiona Glenanne. All that was left was him and he wasn't even sure who he was any more._

Michael had been sitting in the same chair at the bar of the Blue Coral Pub for the last two hours drinking island rum, looking out on the tropical storm battering the town and waiting impatiently for the arrival of a colleague of George Anders who had offered to sell him a copy of Mr. Anders financial records.

He shook his head when the woman stood behind the bar went to fill his glass again. He had waited long enough. Tomorrow he would go to the banker's office and convince the man to hand over the documents. Michael's patience was at an end. Maybe it _was_ the right time to shake things up. The police knew nothing, the coroner had no bodies to examine and forensics had a burnt out vehicle, a little bit of DNA and thirty used bullet casings. But no guns, clothing, or anything to show who had done the shooting or what had become of the victims.

Throwing down enough cash to pay for his drinks, Michael got to his feet. It was late and he had big plans for the next day: the banker friend first, from there he would start on the local drug dealers and then anybody else he thought might be hiding things from him. He was through playing nice.

Ducking his head down, Michael stepped out into the torrential rain and the gale force winds. Even as wet as it was, it wasn't cold and being caught in this sort of downfall was nothing new to the Miami resident. He walked rapidly along the narrow pavement, letting the wind and rain clear his alcohol filled head.

He didn't get far before he felt that old sensation of paranoia. Maybe his questions had attracted the attention of somebody who could give him some answers. Without letting on that he knew he was being followed, he entered a narrow alley way between two shops.

Seconds later, a figure came into sight and he pounced, slamming his stalker into one wall and then the other to stun them. With a hand wrapped around his pursuer's throat, he lifted the small figure off the ground and pinned whomever against the wall.

For a split second, they stared at each other, blue-green eyes open wide and filled with fear meeting ice cold blue orbs which went wide with shock and confusion.

"Fi?" Michael gasped softly.

Instantly, his hand left her throat, easing her down the wall until her feet reached the ground.

"Fiona? I – Jesse..." he stammered. "– I..." He couldn't form a sentence, so instead he drew her into a tight embrace.

_She felt real... _He buried his face into her hair, nuzzling her neck. _She smelt real and she was warm, her arms both strong yet gentle as they wrapped around him, holding him just as tightly as he held on to her._

"Shhhh, shh, Michael, I'm here... Shhh... I'll explain everything. Let's get out of this rain."

He wouldn't have fought with her even if he could. He wouldn't do anything that might break the spell. _He had to be hallucinating or maybe he had passed out in the bar and this was all a dream._

Her hand felt just right in his as she led him back out on to the street and, without being told, Fiona led him all the way not only to the right hotel, but to the correct room. She took the key from his pocket and pushed him inside.

When the light was switched on, Michael got his first clear look at the ghost of his lover and he froze. His brow creased as his eyes flickered over her drenched figure and features. Very slowly, hesitatingly, he approached her, his hand raising to tenderly cup her cheek.

He could see the tears in her eyes and feel the way she trembled at his touch. He watched entranced as her tongue ran across her upper lip.

"Michael..." she breathed his name and the wall he had built up around his heart crumbled and cracked, releasing a flood of emotion.

He couldn't talk, he couldn't put into words what he was feeling, it was impossible. Instead he folded his arms about her, cocooning her against his body, yearning to be closer still, to show her how much she meant to him.

"Michael..."

He stole her words from her mouth with a ravaging kiss which slowed and deepened as she surrendered to his touch. He was unaware of her walking him backwards towards the bed or of her hands making a space between their bodies so she could unbutton his shirt.

He had no memory of how they ended up in his bed, naked and entwined, only that it was where he belonged and a place he never wanted to leave. He was unable to comprehend how this miracle had happened, or what he had done to deserve this gift. She had been taken from him, but somehow she was back. He didn't care about how or why, only that she stayed.

He took his time that night and for once she didn't fight him. Instead she let him set the pace, moaning and writhing under his tender touch. When they were finally spent, he fell asleep clinging onto her tightly.

It was impossible for him to sleep for long. Each time Fiona moved in her sleep, his eyes flew open and fear filled his heart that she was about to be snatched away. In the end, he had got up and sat down by the French door which led out onto the balcony. As he sat there watching Fiona sleep, he began to wonder how this had happened.

Slowly the truth of the deception dawned on him. Jesse would have never left a fallen friend, that should have been his first clue. The woman in the car tailing them on their way to Naples was another. Sam had come back from Daytona smelling of her perfume. _Had they all been in on the deception?_ Fiona had been Jesse's contact in Daytona... She had been the one to keep his family safe. A guy with blown knee caps, that was one of Fiona's specialities, a small reminder of her past, of an IRA punishment, a warning to criminals to desist in what they were doing. And lastly, that shot which had come out of nowhere, the high caliber bullet destroying Anson's brain, keeping his hand from opening on the trigger switch. That had to have been her, too.

At each clue as he had pieced it together, he had felt a twinge of fury start to rise at his friends' deceit. But as soon as he turned his eyes back to the bed, the feelings of betrayal died away. He had just been given a second chance, did he really want to blow it by being angry with her? Did he want to lose her again? Was what she had done any worse than the things he had done to her in the past?

_He _had betrayed _her_ and left her back in Ireland with no word at all; though it hadn't been his choice, _she_ hadn't known that. He had pushed her aside for his job more times than he cared to remember and he had done those things, if he was being honest, for himself. He had no doubt in his mind that the plan had been all hers. She had probably coerced Jesse, then left Sam without any choice but to go along and she had done it to _free him_, done it for _his_ benefit, however painful it was. He hadn't really given _her_ a choice as he'd proceeded blindly, doing all manner of evil in the name of protecting her.

He was still sitting there, pondering those last words her brother had said to him all those years ago, when the sun rose up above the horizon and light began to filter into the room. Watching as the figure on the bed began to move restlessly in her sleep, Michael got to his feet and made a call down to room service. Then he went to have a shower and prepare for what he suspected was going to be a long and painful day.

When Fiona woke up, Michael was already showered and dressed and there was a table filled with breakfast food waiting for them on the balcony.

"You did all this without waking me?" Fiona commented as she stretched.

"I couldn't sleep." He shrugged and tried to hide his nerves behind a toothy smile.

Without another word, he handed her one of his clean shirts and then held out his hand to help her on to her feet. "I ordered you your favorite and a pot of Earl Grey. I know it's not your normal blend, but it's the best they could do."

"You're spoiling me, Michael," she answered quietly as she slipped into his dress shirt.

He could tell she was feeling just as wary as he was, neither one of them was any good at dealing with relationship issues. In the past, he had run half way around the world to escape talking about those issues and Fiona tended to get violent.

They ate in silence, their fingers occasionally touching and entwining. It was so tempting to draw her into an embrace and forget about talking, they were no good at it any way. He got to his feet and went to look over the balcony edge at the morning crowds of tourists. This was far more complicated than when he had asked her to move into the loft. He turned and discovered she was staring at him, obviously waiting for him to make the first move.

In the end, much to Michael's relief, Fiona broke the silence first. "I'm sorry I had to put you through that... Making you believe -"

"I know why you did it, Fi... You don't have to explain," he answered softly.

"You wouldn't listen," she rushed on. "You were doing so many bad things, we were all scared about what you were going to do next."

"I would have found a way out," he insisted reflexively. "We were getting close to beating him." _This wasn't how he had wanted this discussion to go, but his hesitation had given her the lead._

Drawing her auburn hair away from her face, Fiona got to her feet and came to stand in front of him, her hands resting lightly on his hips.

"When will ya get it inta thot thick head o' yours, it's not up to you to make all the decisions?"

He was still coming to terms with the fact she hadn't died in a hail of bullets. Having Fiona that close, alive and well, was intoxicating. He took hold of a long tendril of reddish brown hair and wrapped it around his finger. He frowned as he tried to come up with the right words.

"What is it you want from me, Fi?" he asked at length.

She cocked her head and looked up at him. Now he could read her indecision as she tried to work out what he meant.

"I'm out of the CIA," he blurted out the admission. "I haven't told Sam, or anybody else, but Pearce... I'm probably facing charges for all the things I've done, including leaving Miami on an illegal flight. But I signed all the papers and Dani signed off on them all. As of three days ago, I'm unemployed."

"And all it took was for me to die," she quipped with a trace of bitterness.

"No! I mean... I promise, I'm out..." He panicked momentarily, thinking that he had said the wrong thing. "It's over, Fi." His arms drew her closer as he peppered kisses all over her face.

She gently eased herself back and stroked a hand over his cheek. "So what now, Michael? What do you intend doing without an agency behind you?"

"Whatever you want... We can stay here, or go back to Miami." He smiled. "I want you to be happy."

"And when you grow bored of us living in just one small little bit of the world, or when somebody from one of the alphabet soup of agencies knocks on our door to ask you to take one last assignment?"

He took a deep breath and sighed. At that precise moment, he would have preferred to take a bullet than do what he was about to do. But he knew it was what she needed to hear.

"When I was burned, I was angry, confused and determined to get back in, whatever the cost. I didn't know how to be anybody else, how to live any other way... But those feelings were _nothing_ compared to what I felt when I thought I'd lost you. So, what is it _you want_ Fiona Glenanne? You need to tell me cuz I'm no good at this and I don't want to get it wrong."

He stared at her as she backed away until they were out of arms' reach. She stood with her hands on her hips and her blue green eyes flickered up and down as she studied every inch of him. A slow smile curved her lips and then she spoke with a hint of a challenge in her tone.

"And if I war ta tell ya I want an island in tha sun, with puppies, kittens and a brood o' gun toting babies, whot would ya say about thot then?"

He gulped and felt the color drain from his face. _The island in the sun... well, there was plenty of houses for sale on the many hundreds of islands in the Caribbean, so he was sure he could do that. But puppies and kittens...? A shiver ran up his spine at the thought of being surrounded by hordes of small fluffy animals. And gun toting babies -?_

She was laughing at him, somehow reading his thoughts. "I don't need any o' thot. You're my island in the sun, Michael, and that's all I've ever wanted. Me and you, living and working together, helping people like we used to before Anson Fullerton and all those other bastards came into our lives."

She was back in front of him, her arms around his neck, her fingers in his short dark hair scraping across his scalp and pulling his head down until her mouth was next to his ear.

"Lemme me show ya whot I want Michael Westen." She nipped his ear with her sharp teeth. "I wa' always better at showin' than tellin'."

**()()()()()()**

Epilogue

The first test on their new life together had come only hours after Fiona's energetic show and tell. A text message on Michael's phone from Sam Axe:

_Hey, Mikey, you better get back here quick. Pearce knows you're AWOL. 24Hrs, brother, that's all the time you got left._

He hadn't wanted to leave, but Fiona had been the one to point out they could hardly move on with their lives if they were on the run from the CIA. He had to go back and break the news that remarkably Fiona Glenanne had survived the brutal shoot out which everybody supposed had killed her.

In the early hours of the morning, just before he stepped back onto the seaplane which would take him back to Miami, she had given him a little reminder of what he could look forward to if he didn't keep his word. The imprint of her hand on his cheek had lasted nearly half an hour, as did the sting from the slap.

Over the next three weeks, Michael had spent the majority of his time in a variety of small rooms answering the same questions over and over again before he was eventually cleared of all charges. During that last week, his resignation had been officially accepted and he'd walked away from the CIA with a do not touch order, a pension, health care, and his name removed from all the travel watch lists; he was, in short, a free man.

Dealing with the CIA had been easy compared to clearing things up with one Kimberly Danielle Pearce. The willowy dark haired senior field officer had been furious when she found out Fiona Glenanne was actually alive. She'd believed that not only had Michael lied to her, but far worse, Jesse Porter had used their blossoming relationship to help his friend deceive the agency.

Nothing either man said could repair the damage. Dani's trust had been broken and she had stopped taking Jesse's calls. It was only after one of Michael and Fiona's daily chats, when he had explained to her how broken up Jesse was over losing Ms. Pearce, that Fiona had stepped into the affair. Calling Michael's former agency contact, the Irish woman had taken all the blame upon herself, making it clear that she had coerced Jesse and deceived Michael, ensuring that the other woman understood that what they had done hadn't been done to hurt her, but rather to free Michael to act.

It took a further two weeks for the the case on Anson Fullerton to finally be closed and for all the charges against Fiona to be dropped. The bombing of the British consulate had been blamed on the actions of a single rogue DIA officer and the psychotic former CIA agent he had freed from an overseas black prison. Pearce had been right when she had said nobody was going to want an in-depth investigation to take place.

To celebrate their newfound freedom, Michael had taken Fiona on a trip over to the UK to the small island between Northern Ireland and the mainland called the Isle of Man. There for a week, with the help of Sean Glenanne, Fiona had gotten to spend her time with her mother who she hadn't seen for nearly eight years.

It had been on the last day of Maeve's visit that Michael had revealed he had arranged a surprise trip for them all: a quick trip across the Irish Sea to the Scottish coast and then a car ride inland to a small border town with one claim to fame. On a cold Thursday afternoon in an insignificant little room with only two witnesses present, Mr. Michael Westen had married Ms. Fiona Glenanne.

When they had returned to Miami, they'd held a small gathering at the Chadwick Hotel to tell all their friends and family. Everybody was overjoyed by the news, even though both Jesse and Sam had mercilessly joked with Michael about finally being broken and tamed. Madeline, who they all expected to be hurt at being left out, had kissed her new daughter and praised her oldest son for finally coming to his senses.

"_I just hope you don't keep me waiting another twenty years for another grandbaby to love."_

The second test to Michael's resolve had come from Agent Pearce. The dark haired woman had called asking the couple to meet her and Jesse for lunch. Because she'd been suffering from a bout of flu, or possibly food poisoning, Fiona had declined the offer but told Michael to go.

Michael had arrived early, taking up their regular table at Carlitos. When he had seen the couple stride along the pavement towards him, his heart had sunk. Dani Pearce's pale drawn features and her body language had been as good as screaming her distress and he had known this wasn't to be a strictly social call.

In the end, it had been up to Jesse to explain the reason for the meeting. Dani had been going through some of the documents Anson Fullerton had stored in his house when she had found one with her name type written on the cover. She should have handed it over to another agent, but instead she had opened the file and discovered how Fullerton had planned to manipulate her into working for him.

Anson had managed to find the name and the location of the man who had killed Dani's fiancé, Jay Tunberg. Mr. Ahmed Damour was living a life of luxury under the protection of the CIA, using the information he had stolen from Jay as his ticket to the sweet life at the agency's and her fiancé's expense.

Michael had listened to Jesse's and Dani's plan to go after Damour and had pointed out that if she did it her way, she would at the very least lose her job. He had a better idea, but his voice had died away when he remembered his promise. The urge to help had been strong, but Fiona was sick; she'd been barely able to get out of bed and hadn't been able to keep any food down for the previous forty eight hours.

"_Go," Fiona had ordered when she'd found out the reason for the meeting. "I've already told Dani you'll help. We owe her and Jesse. I'll be fine."_

So he had gone along with Agent Pearce and Mr. Porter, and, with the assistance of Sam, Madeline and Nate, had helped to bring the murderer of Jay Tunberg to justice.

Fiona had spent the whole time her husband was away worrying that the call back to a government job, to returning to the life of a spy, would be too strong. She'd prepared herself for the call that would tell her he had been asked to complete one more job. But instead of a call, he had returned to her and fallen into bed.

"_Was it fun, being a spy again? Tricking a target into revealing his secrets?" _she had asked.

"_No, I like our life," _had been his short answer, and then he had set about showing her how much he had missed her.

The third and final trial had began a month later, Fiona was still suffering from the occasional bouts of nausea. She had gone off seafood completely, the mere smell of fish being enough to send her racing for the bathroom. Deep down in her heart, she knew what was wrong and she'd known that eventually she would feel better. But now her favorite jeans would no longer zip up and she had noticed Michael watching her sometimes with a look akin to that of a scared bunny rabbit.

After a trip to the pharmacy, followed by a visit to the bathroom, she had come out looking pale and shaky. Later that night, she had sat her husband down to give him the news.

"Michael," she smiled nervously, her heart thudding in her chest. "I – I think we need to talk."

He smiled back and reached over the table to hold her hand. "You're pregnant."

"How? How do you –?"

"I wasn't sure, but -" He held up the receipt from CVS for one pregnancy test kit. "You dropped it on top of the trash - and I was curious."

"And you don't mind? You're okay with this?"

He got to his feet and moved around to kneel at her side, his head resting on her lap.

"I guess you're goin' to want those puppies and kittens, too?" He smiled up at her before she leaned down to press a long, lingering kiss to his lips.

"Only one thing, this kid..." he declared, as they broke apart, his hand splaying over her tiny baby bump. "This kid doesn't get to tote a gun. At least not until they're are old enough to ride a bike."


	7. 501 High Risk, High Reward

_**A/N: **__First __off, __w__e would like to apologize for not posting this chapter yesterday as scheduled. As our heroes know all to__o__ well, sometimes RL just gets in the way. We say a _**_BIG_**_ thank you to everyone for their enthusiastic reviews and support for this series and its companion on the M-page __Reconnecting__._

_Speaking of the M-page, there is a __new __chapter __of__ Bed Time Stories (Last Stand) that can be read as a prequel to this story. We consider __it__ to be part of our "shared" Burn Notice canon__ and the AU, a re-imagining of __the Season Five premiere, begins here. Technically it IS still Tuesday in the US on EDT, so we've made our belated deadline._

_Much love and thanks go out to Amanda Hawthorn, Daisy Day and all the Burner girls on Twitter and FB, for your __continued __support and comments for this and our other stories. A special shout out to the very special CJ. We miss you here and thank you for the inspiration. Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery so they say. _

_The end may be near, as USA never quits reminding us, for __**their**__ commitment to Burn Notice, but we will __**never**__ cease in ours here__!_

_()()()()()()_

**5.01– High Risk, High Reward**

_An alternate Season 5 premiere following on from 4.18 – Last Stand_

_()()()()()()_

"_Teach me something," he'd challenged as they'd stood in the woods surrounding their target's house._

"_You say that like I didn't teach you damned near everything you know," Larry had shot back._

_He'd tried to save the life of one of those sorry son of bitches who'd burned him, but the bastard's days of dirty double dealing at the IMF were over the minute Larry Sizemore had come into Albert Mercado's soon to be extinguished life. Why had he fought so hard to save someone who'd helped to ruin his life?_

"_Jesus, every time I come back here there is less of you in there. You're bottling up your darkness, all the rage, all the good stuff that makes you who you are!"_

_Larry had been shouting at him, yelling exactly what he'd already been thinking, though not in the same way his former mentor had meant it. "That sonuvabitch, he helped burn you, he deserved to die. Are you gonna tell me different, huh?"_

_Of course Mercado deserved to die, they all did, including the murderous psychopath who was standing in front of him, berating him as he had when they were partners and they weren't partners, not anymore. They all deserved to die… truth be told, he himself deserved to die, too._

"_There it is… There's the look… They took your life away. I know what you wanna do, give yourself permission."_

"_What makes you think I won't start with you?" How many times had he had the opportunity to do that and hadn't taken the shot. He knew who and what Larry was. Why had he let him live all those times?_

"_Because you are lost and because I am the way back and deep down you know that."_

_He had nearly been lost so many times since they had burned him, so many times since they'd forced him out of Ireland, but most especially those times when he'd worked with the man in front of him, the one raging at him for not being the cold blooded killer he'd wanted him to be._

"_I can't stand watching you waste who you are, what you have inside, what we could have been!"_

_The thought of who he could have been if they had still been a team reverberated in his head until he remembered what he'd told Larry, remembered how he'd walked away calm and assured. Once again, Sam Axe had been there for him, had been there to save him from Larry as he'd saved him from himself._

"_You're not gonna do it, Larry, cuz if you shoot me, Sam'll kill you where you stand and, while I'd give my life for something I believe in, there's not a thing in this world that you'd die for. Wanna know the difference between you and me? I really do know you and you only think you know me."_

That thought about his friend, _his __best__ friend he'd amended_, about the former Navy SEAL and Lieutenant Commander had chased the ghost of Larry Sizemore to the back of his brain as Sam had always done when the confrontation between them had been physical and not just mental.

The exhaustion of these last six months was starting to tell on him now that Mr Westen had been taken out of the game for the moment and made to sit on the side lines these last few hours. _He didn't need a rest, __dammit__, he __needed__ to finish this as __fast__ as possible_. Sitting on a black flight that boarded at 22:00 hours and wouldn't get him back on the ground until at least 02:00 had left him sitting still for four hours too long and had left him with too much time on his hands_. _

_As he'd told Raines,_ _he __didn't want answers, he _needed _them_.

Thinking about the mission and where it had taken him, Panama, Brussels, Seattle, Columbia, Ottawa and other stops along the way, hadn't led to him being more focused on the mission, but rather had turned his mind to where he was headed and who he'd left behind there. His frustration at the man who recruited him mounted.

_They were at a critical juncture_…._why had Raines sent him back to Miami?_

He needed to stay centered on taking apart the organization that burned him, so he _could_ go back to the people he'd left behind _without_ this millstone around his neck. The fact that his exact status with the Agency, civilian intelligence asset, independent contractor, reinstated agent or officially retired not fired, hadn't been quite settled. Yet it didn't matter, finishing those people who'd muddied that water did.

_Sam had been a soldier. Sam had worked with him on multiple covert operations, both as a Ranger and as a spy. Sam understood what he was up against. Sam got the whole compartmentalization thing in a way the women in his life never would, though they both understood about the necessity of keeping secrets and were practiced in the art themselves._

_They just didn't __happen to __like it when that need involved him and __only__ begrudgingly tolerated it as a fact of his life._

_The ex-SEAL understood what it meant to seek redemption. Sam had been dishonorably discharged from the Navy for standing up for the little guy regardless of whose toes he'd stepped on, although admittedly Mr. Axe had gotten himself in his own unique brand of trouble with an admiral's wife. There was a huge I-told-you-so card on that table Mike almost never played._

_Sure, the older man had spied on him when he'd first found himself stuck in Miami, but Sam had kept him from going off the reservation countless times these past four years because Sam understood what he was going __through. Sam Axe deserved better than what he'd gotten from him as a friend in exchange for his unwavering…_

"_You want this data, Mike? You're gonna have to steal yourself because I'm not gonna give it to you. And hey, if that makes me the Boy Scout you and your friend Larry think I am, man I'm okay with that!"_

_Okay, maybe __unwavering__ support was a bit strong…_ but Michael was forced to admit that he had needed that proverbial kick in the ass at the time. Unfortunately, remembering the rest of the conversation had sent him in a direction he hadn't wanted to go, to a place he hesitated to confront…

"_I'm not gonna help you any more until you get your head outta your ass! Hey, you want backup at your meeting with Carlos? Call Fi."_

_This__ wasn't Sam's fight, yet the man had stuck by him at the risk of his own life and limb and pursuit of happiness. Fiona... Fiona had..._ Sitting alone on that government Learjet with no one for company but the crew and nothing but time on his hands, he still couldn't begin to process the mental gymnastics necessary at that moment to explain to himself the changes to his connection with Fiona Glenanne during this past year...

"_Maybe this isn't your fight, Fi. Just because it's my path doesn't mean it's yours."_

"_Maybe you're right."_

_Truly not the time to be having that conversation, trying to set up a road block with the enemy breathing down their necks, but she wouldn't let it go, or maybe she just couldn't... She'd challenged __him __to explain how this was a__nything but a__ lose-lose proposition for h__er and that had been his answer:__ if you're not with me on this, then you're _not with me_._

"_This may be your war, but we're all caught in the crossfire-"_

"_Fiona!"_

"_Save it. You can apologize if we live."_

_So many stress-filled, harsh, hurt, angry words, so many years of misunderstanding made raw by imminent death._

"_That should give you a window to get out with the list."_

"_That's a suicide mission for you."_

_One last chance, one last plea and one last time, pushing her away, pushing her onto another path, possibly into the arms of another man, to try and save her from the fate of being entangled with him._

"_Michael…"_

"_You said it yourself, Fiona. Maybe it's time you went your own way."_

_He'd told his old mentor that he knew him, but that the man didn't really know him at all. Apparently, the same truth held for him in his relationship with the woman who'd been his asset and become so much more._

"_What the hell are you doing here?"_

"_What does it look like?" she'd shot back while shooting back at their adversaries. "I'm tired of you making all the decisions in this relationship." She looked like she almost wanted to shoot him in that given second as much as Vaughn's men. "Is this thing ready to go?"_

"_Fi, you don't have to be here. You know you—" Of course she didn't HAVE to be there. She wasn't SUPPOSED to be there. How could you save someone who insisted into running head long into danger? The irony wasn't wasted on him either._

"_What, run? Come on, Michael. You saw the pattern of fire out there. I wouldn't make it 10 feet. When it's time, we'll do this together... I was always so much better with explosives than you."_

_He had laughed and almost cried simultaneously at her statement because there was a truth contained in her words greater than the fact that she had been taught the bomb makers art by a master chemist at a young age, a truth he'd wished he'd had more than the last five seconds of his life to process._

_And then he'd gotten that opportunity he'd longed for and instead had promptly disappeared into a mysterious black limo in search of another truth, a broader, more dangerous reality that threatened to eclipse more than the truly important thing he'd just learned._

"We'll be landing in fifteen minutes," a disembodied voice announced.

Michael opened his eyes and let them adjust to the lighting slowly, though there was very little of it inside the cabin of the plane. The sun wasn't up just yet, but it wouldn't be long before it was.

He had a desire to arrive before the darkness had abated for a variety of tactical and personal reasons. To sacrifice oneself as he was prepared to do for the good of the mission, for the good of his comrades in arms, that was a concept he readily understood and, although as a spy he had spent his life preparing, nothing in his training or in his experience had prepared him for Fiona's decision to die together rather than live on separately.

()()()()()()

The closer he got to the loft in the black Ford Crown Victoria with the dark tinted windows that the Agency had provided for his use, the more he couldn't get his mind off of what he would and wouldn't find there. The Charger had had its Enterprise moment on the chase from the nuclear plant when he'd had to sacrifice it in an attempt to evade Vaughn's men. Fiona's Hyundai was what he was anticipating finding and hopefully not in the same condition he'd last seen it, which was full of bullet holes after a job gone sideways, or so she had said.

He smiled briefly at her reaction to finding her electric blue baby sitting there, damage repaired and good as new, courtesy of his new friends in the auto business, the Taylor brothers. His prior contact had lost the Triple H Auto Body Repair to a grand jury investigation sometime between his leaving Miami and his forced return. It was his parting gift to her before he'd had to kiss her goodbye, a long and almost tearful thing, and then get back into the black Suburban they'd given him that time, driving away to the mission he'd been anticipating since he'd heard those fateful words. _Sometimes that flat, emotionless voice declaring him black listed still __troubled him at night, along with the screams of dead factory workers and the soft whimpers of terrified children__._

Michael shook his head forcefully and pushed those sounds out of his mind. Once again, he turned his focus to what awaited him. He'd only been back to his home town twice very early on in the operation. The first time came after ten days in CIA custody, sitting in a room answering questions for a week and then another week working out the parameters of the plan that would see him and his newly assigned handler, Max Grant and his team, work their way through the NOC list until they got to the top of this hydra of an organization and finally cut off its real head.

The second time, he'd been gone a month. He was headed to the Caribbean and was sufficiently ahead of Max that he was able to convince Agent Grant to grant him a couple days layover in Miami en route and was very appreciative of the favour. Michael knew once the manhunt had commenced in earnest, there would be no coming back until it was done and little opportunity for any kind of communication. He owed Fiona more of an explanation than he'd been able to give her when he'd left that encoded note in her bag the first time he'd seen her since his release.

Yes, it was bad trade craft, but unless a virtually defunct Irish Republican terrorist organization broke into the loft and tossed it and her personal belongings without getting shot, even then if they had found the message, they would have had a hard time decoding it and/or assigning any meaning to it.

As the Miami native navigated the traffic from the CIA hangar at Opa Locka Airport, he thought about how he'd come back to the smell of cheap booze and smoke permeating the loft. Finding Fiona passed out on his bed, obviously beaten and apparently inebriated, had caused his heart to skip a beat or two. The image of her sprawled out, bloodied and unconscious, had haunted him.

He remembered the stories Sean had told him while the visiting Irishman gotten his almost brother-in-law on the side when O'Neil had come a calling to have words with him about what his sister had done in the wake of McBride's abrupt departure, about the things she'd done to finish off the REAL IRA in his absence that had cut him to the quick, things that sometimes included drunken bar brawls and part of his heart had seized up with guilt.

But he was good at putting things in a box and moving on, so he had.

Michael parked on the street, opposite the club in Oleg's reserved spot, both watching the building and contemplating the contradiction that was Fiona Glenanne. She'd been a tigress who'd pointed a machine pistol at him and then had repeatedly tried to seduce him, though she could barely stand up straight unaided. But, there was also the helpless kitten quality she'd projected when he'd found her lying there in the bathtub, looking small and vulnerable where she'd passed out again after washing up, as he'd returned from changing the ruined bed sheets. Later on, he'd given those linens a burn notice all of their own in a trash barrel down by the docks while she'd slept.

The pictures flooded his brain: of tending to her, of washing all the debris of that job gone bad from her hair, of drying and dressing her and her wounds with bare minimum cooperation from her, of watching her sleep and spooning the 'medicine' down her throat to keep her comfortable enough to sleep, of watching her come awake to the meal he'd prepared for her, of making quiet love to her and spending the night cocooned around her warm and for once not restless body. Soon enough he was out of the car and headed towards the woman that had captivated his mind, taking up every bit of the rare and precious idle time he'd had in the last six months.

As the dark haired man slipped between the patrons jostling one another in line, he thought of the suit clothes and the jewelry he taken with him. Smooth Talking Johnny was going to take a special someone dancing when this was all over. _Why the hell had Raines taken him off the interrogation and send him back to Miami?_ But that nagging query disappeared as soon as Michael saw that the parking space below the loft was empty.

_Was she out on another job? _As he walked cautiously up the stairs, something made him reach for the hardware tucked in the back of his waistband. The spy eased the door open and was peering into the darkness beyond the opening when he was slammed with the door and the weapon snatched from his grasp.

Michael pushed back against the heavy metal object and heard a grunt as it bounced off whoever was behind it. Strong hands grabbed him by the forearms and swung him towards the staircase near the center of the room. A circular fan, one of Fi's snow globes and a ceramic mug were all victims of the battle as he and his attacker wrestled to get a hold on one another. Pushing his opponent away, he came around the back of stairs, only to be met on the left side of the staircase and slammed up against the wire mesh that surrounded it so hard the dartboard was knocked off in the process. Mr. Westen flailed, trying to get his balance, and sent a small night lamp crashing to the floor.

A muscular limb pressed across his throat and a gun barrel into his stomach. Before he could make counter move, the smell of familiar cologne instead of perfume hit his nose and the identity of his assailant was on this lips as he blurted out the name in surprise.

"Sam, what the hell are you doing?"

Michael staggered a bit as he was released and then light flooded the loft as the former SEAL snapped on the recessed fixtures at the back of the loft. The sight of Sam Axe wearing fatigues accessorized with night vision goggles and an equipment belt boggled his brain momentarily. Without the loose fitting clothing, it was immediately apparent that his friend had dropped quite a bit of weight and must had spent time doing something besides drinking heavily and romancing women since he'd seen him last. Suddenly, he couldn't remember when he'd previously seen Sam looking so military, right down to the boots, and without a Tommy Bahamas shirt.

"Damn, Mikey, thanks for a chance to test the old reflexes there, but give a fella some warning next time."

As he looked around the loft, Mr. Westen realized why he'd had such a hard time seeing the assault coming. The windows were covered with some kind of film that blocked the available light and had given Sam the obvious advantage. He walked over to finger the panes behind the untouched bed and then ran the palm of his hand over it.

"You like that stuff?" the older man queried as he headed towards the refrigerator. "It's one way film that not only keeps anyone from seeing in, it cuts the light at night. Works pretty good, I'd say. Well, since you're here, I guess that means we get a celebratory beer? Are we done yet? What's the latest?"

Michael joined him at the breakfast bar as the man put a couple of cold ones on top of the worn wooden surface.

"Not quite yet. What's going on, Sam? Where's Fiona?"

"Uh, yeah, about that," Sam said, looking down as he popped the top to both beers without meeting his other man's eyes. "Ya might wanna take a seat while I fill you in about that." He pushed the Heisler towards the other side of the bar.

"Why?" he demanded, immediately fearing the worst. "Is she hurt? "

"No, no, relax, brother. Fi's fine, she's just busy right now."

"Busy?" he echoed. "Busy with what?" The possibilities were already growing at alarming proportions.

"You know, Mikey, I don't know where you get the idea that life just stops for the rest of us while you're off on these crusades of yours," Sam sat down heavily on the bar stool and finally looked his friend full in the face. "But the crazies still come around when you're gone and yours truly here gets the honor of trying to keep Tinkerbell from blowing everything all to hell while we're dealing with it."

"You mean like you did at O'Sullivans," Michael questioned rhetorically.

"Hey, I never said it was easy. In fact, with you gone, I'm just a man down and up one mad bomber with anger management issues. Are we almost done with these guys? Cuz I gotta tell ya, brother, we sure could use your help here on the home front."

"Care to be a little more specific? Like why you're over here rehearsing for the Team Six reunion and why you still haven't told me where Fiona is?"

"Come on, Mike, I'll give you the tour of my new operations center, which coincidentally used to be your home," Sam said with a weary smile. Coming around the wooden barrier, he clapped his friend on the shoulder and turned the younger man towards the staircase, which Michael noticed had been covered in wire mesh as he ascended the stairs.

"Controlling the access points," he remarked as they came around the top.

"Sammy's still got it." He paused next to a dumb founded Michael. "When I need it."

Mr Westen stared at the state of the art computer system that had replaced the old PC which had once sat in the left hand corner. Surrounding the landing was two inch thick sheet metal that the spy immediately knew was bullet proof. The couch was the same, but the amount of firearms, C-4, RDX, det cord, blasting caps, ready-made charges and grenades around it left him a little speechless. _And he had thought__ he was the one fighting an all-__out war out there in the real world._

"Sam, where did all this stuff come from? This looks like the contents of Fi's storage locker in Hialeah."

"Good eye, but it's half, actually. Your girlfriend's got the other half of her stash with her. Jesse hooked us up with the tech though, the latest and the greatest in integrated security systems."

"uh... and CIFA just let him borrow all this?" His disbelief was apparent.

"Seriously, Mike?" Sam cocked an eyebrow at the dark haired man and then grinned. "No, this little gem came courtesy of SecuriCorp. I have to say, brother, I was really impressed how quickly Jess was able to wrangle this."

"SecuriCorp? You mean, Jesse's not with CIFA, anymore?" Mr Porter had been cleared of all charges and reinstated following Michael's return to the CIA fold. It had been one of the demands he'd made of Raines in exchange for his cooperation on the operation, not that they could have kept him from going if they tried. But it had been nice to be able to make amends for getting Jesse burned.

"You're really gonna have to read the memos if you aren't gonna show up for the meetings, Mikey."

Michael shook his head slightly as he tried to process that particular piece of news. Jesse had been almost as angry and determined as he had been to right the wrong and return to his job and _now he had just quit...?_

Before the covert operative could make his next inquiry, a red light began flashing on the computer in concert with a low sounding alarm.

"Aw, dammit!" Sam declared as he reached to the floor and grabbed a heavy leather bag. Straightening up, he looked at his friend's puzzled expression and answered before he asked.

"That's the hot line. Someone's in your Ma's house. We gotta go, brother. I'll fill you in on the way there. Where'd you'd park the Bat-Mobile?"

()()()()()()

As they were flying low through the Miami streets in the near dawn light using his Agency issued vehicle, all the better to keep local law enforcement from detaining them, Mr Axe had brought Michael up to speed on what had been happening in his absence.

Jesse had indeed quit CIFA and gone on to work for the most premiere security consulting firm in the southeast, possibly on the Atlanta seaboard. Besides the pay increase, the perks had been beneficial for both Mr Porter and his friends. As it turned out, they had needed them. Plus it left them with contacts in the government they could actually contact unlike Michael.

The first sign that trouble was a foot was Madeline reporting additional surveillance around her home, especially since the prodigal son Nate and his pregnant wife had returned from Vegas and rented a house nearby. Initially the team had suspected that the younger Westen's former associates were sniffing around looking to connect and collect. While that had been the case in certain instances, odd occurrences and unexplained coincidences had continue to pile up, not only at the Westens' households, but in and around the loft and at the impound yard where the four thousand pounds of mangled metal that used to be Michael's car was stored.

Then had come the kicker.

Two cars had approached Nate's limo while he was driving the missus to a medical appointment. Without any other witnesses, it was hard to say with any real assurance whether the younger sibling had been targeted by his brother's enemies, his own or was merely the unfortunate victim of that all too common Florida driving hazard known as road rage. But the doubt was enough to put the whole team on high alert. If it wasn't an accident, whoever had staged it was very, very good at their craft. The only reason Nate and his wife had survived the resulting crash at all was the heavy body frame of the sedan and their seat belts.

Unfortunately, the accident claimed the life of their unborn son. Two weeks spent in the hospital recovering from her minor injuries, devastating loss and _coming to her senses,_ _so she said_, had culminated in Mrs. Ruth Westen leaving behind Miami, her husband, her hospital bill, a credit card charge for a plane ticket and a strongly worded letter from a divorce attorney.

Admittedly, while Michael certainly wished his brother all the best, he really hadn't expected Nate's marriage or approaching fatherhood to end particularly well, but this was the last thing he had anticipated or wanted. That he and his friends would be targeted was an unfortunate fact of their lives, but that a true innocent had perished before ever having the chance to get started had truly saddened him and then shortly thereafter had made his blood boil.

When Maddie and the team had returned home with a grieving Nate to find their family heirloom bible, thick coat of dust and all, was lying open on the dining room table with the passage Psalms 30:5 highlighted in gold, then that had been enough to rally the troops. Fiona had taken the two remaining Westens into a protective custody of her own, Sam had taken over sentry duty at the loft and intensified his previous efforts vis a vis getting back into his old Navy working clothes and Jesse had made available as many of his new and old employers' resources as he reasonably could, given his status as the former golden boy of CIFA.

To say that learning all this in the ten minute hell for leather ride from the loft to his childhood home had put Michael back in super spy mode would have been a gross understatement.

Processing his emotions was entirely secondary to gathering intelligence on this new incursion into his personal life. As much as it felt like a sneak attack with tragic results, he had learned over the years that nothing was ever as simple as it appeared on the surface.

Now Raines' reprieve had turned out to be a blessing in disguise.

He knew his friend would be concerned when he had practically leapt out of the vehicle and raced towards his mother's empty house. But Michael had no intention of kicking the front door open and Sam's worries were proved unfounded as the former Ranger had quickly conducted a perimeter check of the grounds while the ex-SEAL had surveyed the garage to determine there was no threat forthcoming from that angle.

Intending to breech the kitchen and front doors simultaneously, both men were surprised when they each found their respective doors unlocked. Mr Westen eased in through the front door while Sam took the longer route through the kitchen and moved immediately to the bedrooms down the long narrow hallway past the laundry room. As Mr Axe returned from clearing the back of the house, Michael noted his friend glancing up over his head and was pleased to see the lock Sam had obviously installed on the attic hatch firmly in place. Later, they would see what was up there, but for now he was satisfied there was no imminent attack from above.

"Whatcha got there, Mike?" Sam queried, coming to stand by the younger man's side at the dining room table.

"Another message," he answered, pointing at the highlighted passage. _"And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free. " _

And though he was standing next to his best friend in his mom's living room right at that moment, in his head he was in another time and place, walking on a beach with someone completely different, in more ways than one.

"_What does the bible decode?"_

"_Oh, I'm not goin to tell. Let's put it this way. You deliver that book to Mr Barrett he'll have everything he needs to wipe out Vaughn and his ilk completely. Let him, Michael. You'll be free. Free to go gunning for Barrett yourself if that's what you want."_

"_Why tell me any of this?"_

"_I would have worked with the devil himself to take down those sons of bitches who burned us. Sadly, the devil wasn't available, so I'll have to pin my hopes on you. Go get them, brother."_

"Care to enlighten us pagans what it means?" Sam joked, trying to ease the tension he saw building in the tightening of his friend's jaw and the narrowing of those blue eyes that were growing icier by the second.

"It means we have a problem."

()()()()()()

"I need to know if a prisoner is still in custody," Michael's tone was clipped and deliberate despite having to repeat the request more than once. "Yes, of course, I'll wait." _What else could he possibly be doing?_

After having done a thorough check of Madeline's house and the attic, they had discovered two things. All of Sam and Jesse's security measures were intact and untouched, which meant hopefully that surveillance footage would be available shortly. The pair had also learned that someone had installed their own cameras and listening devices in the 'locked' attic. Jesse had arrived with a single companion, as to minimize the number of outsiders involved in this case and keep it off everyone's radar. According to Mr Porter, the slender Asian woman at his side was worth an entire Geek Squad team and would be able to do wonders.

Sam and Michael went back to the loft to regroup and revise their current risk assessment before calling Fiona. The older man was upstairs coordinating with Jesse and his one-woman tech team back at Casa Westen while the younger man was pacing out on the balcony, trying to hold his temper and longing to hear someone's voice.

"This is a matter of national security." _He was going to be the threat to a national security agency if he didn't get some answers pronto!_ "Get me Raines now!" he snapped after being advised he had insufficient security clearance to be provided the desired information. He knew when he'd been told that Assistant Director Raines was unavailable that no one was going tell him _directly_ whether or not Simon had escaped. He had just wanted someone to tell Raines to call him back immediately because he needed to know the status of Mr. Escher's captivity since being transferred into the CIA's more _humane_ care.

He looked up to see Sam watching him with a slightly bemused look on his face and Michael was sure they were both thinking about their mutual friend whose fondness for problem solving whilst striding around a room was legendary in intelligence circles, although they had both agreed over a decade ago to never speak of her again. He let out a long breath through his teeth and went inside to get a bottle of water, settle in the ugly green chair and try to wait.

"Michael..." William Raines had sounded as frustrated as his former recruit felt when he'd finally gotten back on the line. "I've been trying to get in contact with you. We need you-"

"_And I need_ to know if a certain psychopath that the CIA is supposed to be keeping tabs on has escaped," he cut him off. "So you can ask my me anything you want while you're finding out if Simon Escher is still where he's supposed to be."

Apparently, Raines was momentarily at a loss of words, but it didn't last long. "Hold on."

Michael dropped his head into his free hand, covering his eyes and shaking it slowly. At least they weren't hanging up on him instead of leaving him hanging. The tension building in his neck muscles was nothing compared to the aggravation of not being able to see or hear or touch her…

When he'd first approached the loft, he'd been a little bit apprehensive about what sort of reception he would get since she hadn't acknowledged the text he'd sent once his current boss had informed him there was a plane going wheels up at 22:00 and he had better be on it. Ire at Raines for cutting him out of Hector's interrogation had openly warred with the desire to see her.

Now all he wanted to do was get off this call so he could go see her as soon as possible. Sitting next to the bed, reminiscing about the last time they had shared it, had shared each other, was not helping his patience any. Worse yet, Raines returning to the line and informing him that it would take time to verify and that he expected Michael to be on the next plane back to DC within the hour to move forward the stalled interrogation of Hector had done nothing to improve his temper.

Mr Westen dropped the hand holding the phone into his lap and threw his head back, rolling his eyes at the ceiling and clenching his jaw so hard that he was amazed his teeth hadn't shattered.

"Not good news?" Sam guessed as he descended the stairs. The former SEAL didn't need anything more than his friend's expression and the fact that Michael's upper lip had disappeared to know the answer to his own inquiry.

"What's Fiona's number?" he asked with an exasperated sigh.

Sam went to the refrigerator and retrieved the two pre-offered beers before digging into one of his many pants pockets and handing the burner phone to the dark haired man in the dark mood.

"Speed Dial 1, brother. I'll be upstairs if you need me."

Michael took a minute to compose himself before getting up and going back out onto the balcony before dialling.

"Any news, Sam?" came the breathless voice and he realized he'd just how much he'd been longing for it. _Why hadn't he just called her before now? _Hearing Fiona had opened that box where he kept his feelings for her locked up safely away.

"Fi...?"

"Michael? My God, Michael, is that really you? Are you alright? Are you back? Is it over? " Her questions tumbled one atop of another and he wasn't sure which one to answer first.

"Fiona, are you alright?"

"Yes, I'm fine. I'm here taking care of your mom and Nate. They're okay, too."

For some reason, the covert operative was overcome with a rush of emotion at her words and he found himself blinking back unbidden, unexpected tears and swallowing hard before he spoke.

"I'm sorry, Fiona..." He wasn't sure what exactly he was apologizing for, but it felt insufficient whatever it was.

"I know, Michael..." Her own voice was laden with unshed tears. "Is it over? Are you back?"

"No," he gulped again. "I've just been called back. We got the last operative. We're going to get the names of the people in charge now. We're finally getting to the top of the pyramid."

Somehow it didn't feel as satisfying saying that as he had once thought it would. "How are my mom and Nate holding up, really?"

"Getting your mom to smoke outside has been the toughest part," she laughed, a shaky sound at best. "Nate has been... well, I supposed it's a good thing that I've got him under lock and key."

Michael could just imagine what his little brother's alcohol consumption would be under the circumstances.

"Actually, we've all been bonding over missing..." Fiona trailed off as she apparently realized what she was about to say.

"I've missed you, Fi..." he said in barely more than a whisper.

"Good," she answered simply. "Gives you another reason to come back in one piece, otherwise I'll have to kick your ass."

"Duly noted," and there was a trace of humor in his voice that didn't penetrate his heart very deeply.

"So, where are you? Or are you not allowed to tell me?" There was a definite edge of pique in her jibe.

"I'm with Sam at the loft. We're trying to figure out who broke into my mom's house and left another suggested scripture reading."

"Michael, you don't think-"

"I don't know," he told her honestly. "I've asked Lang—, I'll find out when I get back there."

"So you're going now?"

"I'm leaving Opa Locka in less than an hour."

"Well, that leaves out a goodbye kiss," Fiona responded in a resigned tone, which told Michael she was not anywhere in Dade County, which was more than he probably needed to know.

"Fi..."

"I know, Michael." She let out a heavy sigh and then asked wistfully, "Do you remember what it was like before it got so complicated?"

Silence floated between them like a still winter's morn back in Dublin and then she did something she'd never done except once. She started to sing, soft and low, so quietly that he had to strain to hear her.

"Rest tired eyes a while...Sweet is thy baby's smile. Angels are guarding and they watch o'er thee."

And, in that moment, he wasn't in Miami in the heat and the humidity, he was back in their small dingy, rundown but perfect little flat in Dublin, listening to her hum that tune repeatedly throughout their days together. _When she was cooking, when she was __washin__g__ up__, when she was cleaning guns or building a bomb, or doing any other activity that a Glenanne would consider domestic, she hummed that tune._

"Sleep, sleep, grah mo chree...Here on your mamma's knee. Angels are guarding and they watch o'er thee..."

_He'd asked her about it one morning while she still thought his name was Michael McBride as he'd awaken to the sound of her actually singing the words in the shower instead of merely carrying the tune. Embarrassed by what she considered a poor singing voice, she'd refused to talk about it when he'd questioned her and his subsequent attempt to 'interrogate' her had rendered her momentarily incoherent and their ensuing love making had rendered the topic supremely unimportant.  
_  
"The birdeens sing a fluting song. They sing to thee the whole day long. Wee fairies dance o'er hill and the dale."

_She'd finally confessed after much kissing, petting and pleading that it was what her mammy had sung to her and her sister every night as she'd brushed their hair out by the fire back on the farm. _

_He'd realized then, remembering the derelict ruin of a farmhouse where they had made love for the first time, she was sharing another piece of herself, a secret fragile part of her woman's heart that she showed to no one, shared with no one but him._

"For very love of thee..."

It was silent again for a long protracted moment. Neither of them could seem to find their voices and then she said simply, "Do what you have to do, Michael."

He couldn't make himself say anything, couldn't make himself do anything to break the spell or spoil the moment.

"Do what you have to do and come home to me. _We need you_. We all do."

And the line went dead.


	8. 501 High Risk, High Reward - Part 2

_**A/N: **__At the risk of being redundant, __**thank you**__ to everyone for their enthusiastic reviews of our efforts. The feedback is well and truly appreciated. We're so happy that we have been able to apparently achieve what we have attempted, which is to offer some well told, in character tales while still fulfilling our inner shippers. We are feeling the love and we love you for sharing!_

_Much love and appreciation goes out as always to Amanda Hawthorn, Daisy Day and all you fabulous Burner girls on FB and Twitter. You know who you are, awesome ladies, and a very special thank you to our regular reviewers!_

_()()()()()()_

**5.01– High Risk, High Reward – Part 2**

_An alternate Season 5 premiere following on from 4.18 – Last Stand_

_()()()()()()_

Most people would have been thrilled to be lounging around a mansion in an exclusive neighborhood on Jupiter Island. The residence located at 165, nestled behind a large screen of sea grapes and saw palmettos, was not the biggest house on South Beach Road in Hobe Sound, but it was sufficiently grand for the two residents who were temporarily housed there. The third, however, had lived in palaces and five star hotels and was more concerned with its tactical security. Although she did appreciate its finer accouterments, her favorite two places in the world were by all accounts ramshackle dumps except for the company she kept there. Like the farm of her childhood, her dingy little flat in a less than desirable apartment block in Dublin and her drab little flat, which was a loft in an industrial building, were home.

The man who had made both of them home had been gone for seven months. She'd spent over half that time guarding over that man's family with the help of a cadre of Jojo Delaney's crewmen. Those men were mercenaries, they were loyal to a fault to her gunrunner friend and therefore to her. She couldn't risk using any of Marcus Dwyer's crew. If word got back to Ireland, even a whisper, before Michael was home permanently, the consequences would be grave. One young life had already been extinguished in this madness; the Irishwoman would not allow another to be a victim of this war.

Fiona Glenanne watched as Michael's mother paced around the long rectangular pool next to the guesthouse where she and Nate were staying. It had been a condition of the use of the house, not that she blamed the owners one bit for insisting that the chain smoking blonde and her "other" son stay out of the main house. The six man team guarding the residents took shifts occupying the other bedrooms in the part of the home that faced the large yard, which opened onto the beach and the ocean beyond.

As such, she was grateful that she'd been sitting in a chair with a view of Madeline on the patio deck when the phone call had come. Nate was nowhere to be seen, but she assumed he was still asleep this early in the morning. She couldn't sleep and for that she had been grateful, too. It had allowed her to answer the call on the first ring and no one else had heard it. Fiona was relieved to get some word from Sam on what was going on back in Miami. She hadn't expected to hear Michael's voice, but her heart had stopped momentarily when she had. The questions had tumbled from her lips in a rapid succession.

He'd sounded tired and over emotional for Michael. That gave her some small hope that there would a real homecoming for them in the future once this mess had been cleared away. She was disappointed he wasn't going to be around long enough for her to see him before he was carried away back to battle again and she felt very guilty about leaving Sam and Jesse alone back in Miami to handle that business.

But she had the more important job. She had to protect Michael's family, especially the family he didn't know he had yet. Looking down at the large, round bulge in her dressing gown where her lap used to be, it was hard not to blurt out the news while she had him on the phone. But she knew in her heart of hearts that no matter how badly she wanted to tell him, now was not the time. Michael didn't need the distraction of worrying about this, too. But she couldn't help being a little melancholy as their son pushed and stretched and kicked against her stomach, almost as if he knew his father was on the phone.

Rubbing against the movement inside, Fiona smiled to herself and hoped that she was keeping her emotions sufficiently masked. "I know, Michael." She let out a heavy sigh and then asked wistfully, "Do you remember what it was like before it got so complicated?"

She thought about that first Christmas they'd spent with her family back in Ireland, how her family had _almost_ accepted him as being acceptable for their daughter. She thought about her mammy's grand mansion, so unlike the house she was sitting in now, and she thought about her time on the farm…

Without conscious thought, she was singing that lullaby of her youth, caressing the child that was not yet here and not yet known by both his parents. That she was singing to his Da too was mere happenstance.

"For very love of thee..."

As she finished the song and realized belatedly what she'd done, it was silent again for a long protracted moment. Neither of them could seem to find their voices and then she said simply, "Do what you have to do, Michael." Fiona forced herself to remain calm and in control, especially after telling him that; him doing what he felt he had to do had gotten them into much of this mess.

"Do what you have to do and come home to me. _We need you_. We all do."

She had to hang up then. She would have told him or her voice would have given it away if she hadn't. As much as Fiona longed to hear his voice, she wasn't going to be able to stay composed and he was leaving in less than an hour anyway. There was no time to even drive back down south fast enough to be there before he had to leave, never mind give Michael the time he would need to process the news.

"Shhh, me wee darlin' babe," she whispered as she set the phone down and laid both hands on her expanded middle, feeling the movement underneath. "Yar Da'll be home soon…" And she fought back the tears, because no matter how quickly Michael came back, it would never be soon enough.

()()()()()

_"Do what you have to do, Michael."_

"_Just be the unstoppable sonuvabitch I recruited all those years ago. Do what you have to do."_

His mandate had been clear from the two camps that mattered most at the moment, his family and his bosses. Do what he deemed necessary to end this, which he had done.

_So, why was he cooling his heels in a DIA shrink's outer office waiting to see Dr. Anson Fullerton when he should be questioning Kessler? _He didn't need any instructions on how to conduct an interrogation. _Hadn't he gotten Hector to talk when no one else could?_ He could still hear Tom Card's words from that lecture long ago and it had stuck just fine. _The biggest obstacle you can face in an interrogation is yourself. When your own feelings, your own anger, your own desire for revenge are all that stand between you and the information you want. The stronger your feelings are, the hotter your hate burns, the more important it is to set it aside._

Michael shifted uncomfortably in his seat, eager to get back to work and stop wasting time. _Was that what this was about? Making sure he had himself under control before they would entrust him with the task of wiping out the rest of that __unauthorized quasi-governmental agency that had burned him and ruined his life?_

Raines had pulled him off Hector's interrogation and then suddenly had brought him back in less than 24 hours. When he confronted him about it, all his former recruiter would say was that the order had come from higher up that Agency personnel were to take the lead on the former spy's examination, _as if one burned spy wasn't capable of cracking another. _It was because he understood exactly where Hector was coming from that Michael had been able to get the information from him. Raines had apparently gone against someone's directive in bringing him back and hadn't wasted any time letting the dark haired man know it.

"_I don't need to remind you, I went out on a hell of a limb bringing you back in." _

But, as usual with the Agency, no one questioned him too much as long as he was getting results. He'd gotten results sitting in that room with Hector… He'd gotten results in Venezuela capturing Kessler…

"_Kessler's dug in. We're going need a team. Oh, and one more thing I want to bring my people."_

"_Your people, what people? You mean that ex-SEAL and your girlfriend?"_

"_No, not the ex-SEAL and my girlfriend, they're too busy protecting my family, no thanks to the agency, and I know you, Raines. You're going to insist on someone with security clearance. Jesse Porter was with CIFA. He's dealt with the organization first-hand the same as I have and he knows which agents are qualified to lead this assault." _What he'd meant was that Jesse would know which agents they could trust not to betray them in the field._ "Max will have his team there. If you want my help, I want my team."_

"_You know, I forgot what a pain in the ass you could be, Westen."_

An effective, well-worth-it pain in the ass, as it turned out. He, Jesse and Agent Kimberly Danielle Pearce had proven that, especially since the extraction that had gone south and they had still succeeded in nabbing Señor Kessler with nothing more than ingenuity, loads of hardware and Michael's _failure is not an option_ attitude.

"_He was the head of operations. He planned every project that made my life hell for the last four years. I'd like to put those years behind me, but I have a few questions, questions only he can answer. So trust me—I wanna talk to him more than you can possibly imagine."_

And there was no way that man was slipping through his fingers.

And he hadn't.

Dani Pearce had been an acquaintance of Jesse's from his DC days before being transferred to Miami, or so he had said. Watching the two of them work together had convinced Michael of three things. First, they worked as a team, which meant they had been on other ops. Second, they were more than professionally acquainted. They knew each other's moves on an intimate level. It was odd to watch it from the outside instead of experiencing it, working with Fiona. Michael supposed he now had some inkling of what it had been like for Jesse being the third wheel in a room that had only been big enough for two.

And now Mr Westen understood why Mr Porter had been so circumspect about the level of their association. While Jesse no longer had a government position to protect, Pearce did. The higher up's frowned on that type of inter-agency relations. Finally, as it turned out, Michael had more in common with Dani than he had first known. The slender dark haired woman had a history that both fascinated and distracted him.

Agent Pearce was one of the most dedicated, nose-to-the-grindstone, by-the-book agents he had come across in quite a while. Michael had admired her integrity and tenacity on the job and her ability to compartmentalize when around Mr Porter off the job. So, he was somewhat shocked when Jesse had let him know that she hadn't always been like that. She had been ready to quit the Agency to marry her asset turned fiancé, but the aforementioned Jay Tunberg had not lived long enough for that to happen.

That knowledge had disturbed Michael on many levels as he had lain awake that first night, having volunteered to take the couch and let the other couple have the bed inside the suite. Sleeping with Jesse or anywhere near the big man's snoring was not on his "to do" list and he'd considered it paying it forward in a sense. Back in Miami, it would be Fiona and he that would get the private room on jobs while Sam and or Jesse would be the ones relegated to the couches and tolerating each other's nocturnal noise. A wave of homesickness like he'd never known before had come attached to that thought.

The dark haired man got up and began to circle the reception area of the DIA office, shaking off his reverie before it could take him to places he didn't want to go right then. It was hard enough keeping his mind off Fiona without the obvious comparisons to Pearce's situation and his own. _Was pissing him off by making him wait and wasting his time part of the evaluation? _It seemed likely, another idiotic test to see how he handled the real stress… Once upon a time, when he had been another man, this would not have bothered him because he would have ensured that whoever would have paid a price for it.

Michael gazed out the window at the streets of his home town, bathed in reds and oranges as the sun was setting behind him, but reflecting off the glass of the concrete behemoths that comprised much of down town Miami. He continued to stare, simultaneously wondering where Fiona was and why he was being debriefed here when Kessler was sitting in a black site awaiting his attention. _Another request from someone "higher up" meant to derail the investigation? _There was only so much bureaucratic idiocy that could be reasonably blamed for this happening. The covert operative didn't believe in coincidences this frequently in his line of work, which meant that they had been only partially right in their assessment of Kessler's role in the organization.

_Hard to believe he managed to assemble so many operations and stay so off the radar, but he pulled it off... the last one… Yeah, we get him, we get everything. Not the mealy-mouth, "I followed orders" BS we got from all the other guys. Kessler got his hands dirty on every spy they burned, every op they pulled – all of it. _

It wasn't hard to believe that the man was the operations officer, given everything that had to be done to extract him from his compound near Caracas. But that just meant he was the last one in the wild, as Raines had said. That didn't mean that he was ultimately the one _giving_ all the orders. He couldn't see Management working for anyone, never mind their target. No, Kessler was just the one seeing them executed, just as Cowan had done before his untimely death on that parking garage four years ago. Michael's hand subconsciously drifted to his cheek, remembering the face full of blood he'd been splattered with.

Mr Westen thought again about how they had gone to all the trouble to recruit Commandante Armando Puente, a Venezuelan colonel trained in Cuba by Soviets in the late 80's and therefore open to an approach by an "FSB officer," to help extract the American. So, how was it that as soon as Puente had approached the vehicle, suddenly Kessler had known they were onto him and had shot the Colonel and then employed scanners and jammers to derail the extraction? _No, that dog just didn't hunt_ as his great uncle had been fond of pointing out.

Michael thought about Max's willingness to just give up when the cameras and the radios had mysteriously shut down. A cell phone call from Jesse had confirmed that things had gone badly and the burned spy had wished again for the millionth time that Sam and Fiona, as much as he'd wanted them out of harm's way, were with him backing him up. As Agent Grant had enumerated all the things they didn't have, Michael had finally given him a _welcome to my world_ speech and barreled after the fleeing COO of the organization, crashing through the gates of the compound. The dark haired man had found it difficult to concentrate on the capture of Kessler when he had to wonder whether his CIA contact was just too by the book to improvise or the man was one of them.

It had been even more difficult to decide whether or not to abandon the near fatally wounded Max Grant in favor of fleeing with the wounded Kessler, who had left himself vulnerable whilst shooting said agent in the back and Michael had been able to get the drop on the bastard from behind before he could blockade himself in his reinforced steel safe room.

Peering into that treasure trove of answers, it had been all Michael could do to tear himself away his prisoner to check on his fallen comrade in arms. It had killed him that he was going to have to leave all the information behind, shelves and shelves of secret data that would never see the light of a CIA analyst's room, because someone would be arriving to literally kill them any second now. The wail of the police sirens and his knowledge of Kessler's connections in local government had sent him scrambling for a solution.

It had been with no small amount of relief that Agent Pearce and Mr Porter had arrived on the scene in one of the multitude of Hummers belonging to their target and had helped hustle them away before la policia had arrived and they were all staring at the walls of a Venezuelan prison with little hope of future freedom. But it had not been without regret that their sole prize was a man determined to kill himself before he could talk.

Thinking about Jesse and Dani left him thinking about Fiona again. He wanted to speak to her again so badly, but didn't dare call within the confines of a CIA operated building. After that little fiasco in Caracas, his paranoia level had gone off the charts and being forced to submit to a DIA examination just told him in no uncertain terms that someone in the Company was trying to keep him from getting answers.

"Mr Westen, a pleasure to meet you at last," said the bespectacled older man with a thick blonde mustache and waves of tufted matching hair.

"Dr Fullerton," he acknowledged as he turned towards the man approaching him and his outstretched hand. The man had some deeply etched lines on his face and eyebrows with an almost devilish upsweep.

"Come in, please, Michael. May I call you Michael? I find last names to be so formal and such a barrier to developing a relationship," the man blathered on as he shook Mr Westen's hand a little too long.

_Relationship, not damned likely. _The younger man flashed his best toothy grin and extracted his limb as quickly as possible. "Of course, whatever helps resolve this quickly," he returned. _He could play this game, too; he just had no patience for it right now._ "Why am I here exactly?"

Anson settled behind his desk and gestured for the other man to take the seat opposite. "Just standard procedure," he assured him blithely.

"Standard procedure?" Michael echoed. "I don't recall…"

"Oh, please forgive me. I'd forgotten that you were no longer an active agent. Your profile is quite fascinating, you know. I helped write a large portion of it when you came over from the Rangers. Your career has been most impressive, Michael. I've followed it and, well, of course, you with great interest."

"Uh, thank you?"

"Oh, yes, yes, I'm sorry. As I was saying, when an operation involves the near fatality of a senior agent while working with a civilian intelligence asset, especially a former agent such as yourself, burned I believe is the term, then an evaluation is mandatory." He smiled a toothy grin of his own that was smarmy at best and set Michael's teeth on edge. It was almost as if he was challenging him to argue.

"How thoughtless of me, you've never had Agency protocols applied to you in this manner before, have you? They just want to make sure that you're properly debriefed. You've been in the field a long time with this operation, not to mention those years you were fighting this all on your own after they had turned their backs on you. I'm sure that was very frustrating for you, Michael, to have all your hard work and loyalty dismissed like that."

"I've had better days," he returned neutrally.

"Yes, I've sure you have. I'm sure you're finding this appointment rather frustrating as well. I know talking to me when you'd rather be moving the investigation forward…." Dr Fullerton trailed off as he glanced down and flipped through some papers in the folder in front of him. "You always managed to cut through the red tape when you were working with Agent Sizemore, didn't you?"

"What's does this have to do with Larry?" Michael mentally kicked himself for the slip, jet lag and sleep deprivation no doubt. Maybe he did need to take a break, but he just couldn't, not now, not yet.

"Nothing, nothing at all, Michael, just an observation," Anson deflected as he smiled that creepy grin. "Shall we begin? We have a lot of ground to cover."

()()()()()()

"Jesus, Ma, would you just leave Fiona alone? Can't you see she's got enough problems of her own with us hanging around?"

It was the first thing Nate Westen had said in days and Ms Glenanne couldn't help but be grateful for his intervention. She used to wonder why Michael had run away to the other side of the world at seventeen.

Now she knew.

She watched with sorrowful eyes as Michael's younger brother had turned his attention back to the huge flat screen television with stereo surround sound that dominated the living room wall of the main house and poured himself another drink. The Irishwoman wanted to say something, either in gratitude or consolation, but she didn't have the words right now.

Madeline left in a huff with her cigarettes and headed for the pool deck. Fiona took her place in the deep lounge chair next to the couch and sank into it with a heavy sigh.

"She means well," her son observed blandly.

"I know," she agreed. "I know she does, but sometimes-"

"Yeah," Nate concurred before knocking back another shot of whiskey.

Mrs Westen was used to coming and going as she pleased. The constant emptiness of her home after decades of noise, a large portion of it unpleasant, had left Michael's mother in the habit of heading out the front door often. As much as she griped about having Michael and his friends around, and occasionally his enemies, she was happy for the company. Nate's presence over the years had usually been dictated by how much he owed to whom and whether or not they were aware of his mother's address. Once her baby boy had moved to Las Vegas, Madeline was even happier to have her older son and his friends around.

Fiona understood her frustration, vividly remembering the three days she had spent with her Auntie Jeannie in her eldest brother's shell of a house awaiting word on Claire's killer. She had been climbing the walls when she'd gotten a phone call from Val Temple, the local PIRA shot caller who had wanted to speak to the head of the Glenanne family, and had used it as an excuse to see what Liam was up to. She was never going to un-hear what she had heard or be able to purge those images from her mind. Sometimes, there were rules for a reason, much as she was loath to admit it. Nate had already been ambushed at the cost of his son's life. There was no way in hell she was taking a similar chance with her son... Michael's son..._their _son...

Fiona wiped away a tear with the back of her hand before the younger man could see it.

It wasn't bad enough that they _couldn't_ go baby stuff shopping like Michael's mother wanted to, as if Fiona would risk being seen in public at this junction with his enemies circling, but it was just plain wrong to do so. Besides needing to be able to move at a moment's notice and not needing to lug all those as of yet unnecessary things around, it would have hardly been conducive to making her other son comfortable considering that he had now lost the opportunity to be a father for the time being _and_ being around his older brother's pregnant girlfriend was surely enough of a painful reminder. She loved Madeline dearly, but sometimes the woman was SO dense!

Besides which, it simply wasn't done back home. Proper Irish Catholic families did not buy any of those things until just before the baby was born. The crib wasn't even put up until after the child was safely delivered. She'd done so many things against what her family would have considered right and decent that she was not going to bend on that topic, particularly since she had so many overwhelmingly practical reasons not to give in.

In any event, dealing with Madeline Westen's objections was the least of her worries right now. Jojo's team had been finding things that were making her extremely nervous: cigarette butts and water bottles outside, camera lens caps on the ground, damaged security cameras. They could be signs that their safe house had been compromised or it could be someone trying to flush them out into the open. She was oh so tempted right about now to take the bottle away from Nate for not merely his own good, but her own consumption as well.

Ms Glenanne was beginning to have some measure of sympathy for Michael when it came to not having to deal with civilians in tactical situations, though she was still pissed at him for cutting her and Sam out of the picture over and over. They may not have been _agency approved_, but they were equal or better to anything the Company had produced. This time, however, she'd had no choice but to circle the wagons and sit this one out.

Something more important than being by Michael Westen's side had come into her life and the needs of his son outweighed the needs of the man himself. _Bloody good thing what Michael wants and what I need... what _we all _need... are actually the same fecking thing for once, _she thought bitterly.

With that in mind, Fiona picked up the burner phone and called Sam to let him know they were headed to the new safe house, the one in western Broward County that no one else knew about. It was a risk being the only one who knew the location, but it would keep anyone else from betraying their secret.

After enduring Madeline's endless complaints and Nate's boozy clumsiness as they had packed up their things and made ready to leave under cover of darkness, the former IRA operative could have probably been forgiven for not taking into account that the road from their current location was one way in and one way out and not immediately catching the one man construction crew setting up barricades as a threat. But, by the time the lead vehicle had exploded from a blast buried in the road and flipped on its roof, it was too late.

The body guards had opened fire in an attempt to kill whoever might be approaching their large black SUV, but Fiona realized belatedly once again that they had been suckered into opening the windows and effectively giving their assailant exactly what they needed to launch a flash bang followed by a gas grenade into the vehicle.

One of Jojo's men had covered her body with his own and taken the worst of the first blast. The last thing she remembered was tears of frustration that she couldn't move the man who'd saved her in time to bend over and throw the smoking object back out of the vehicle.

()()()()()()()

The first thing Michael noticed after he had exited that office building and headed over towards the adjoining skyscraper was that he couldn't overcome the feeling of needing a shower that had nothing to do with the relative humidity of Miami. Spending two hours trying to fend off Dr Fullerton had been one of the most exhausting things he had ever done. It was worse than spending time with his mother's various therapists. At least they weren't as well informed as the good doctor appeared to be. The man's obsession with why Michael had joined the Agency as well as his progress with the investigation of the rogue organization that ruined his life had troubled Mr Westen deeply.

He didn't have much time to contemplate further how badly Anson Fullerton had left his head spinning. Raines had immediately grabbed him, followed by the dark haired woman who had accompanied him to Venezuela, to bring them both up to speed on the next 'debriefing' session with Mr Kessler. Because of the sensitive nature of the conversation, he'd been forced to turn his phone off and that rubbed against the grain mightily.

Pearce and Porter would be joining Westen at the site, but only the actual CIA agent would be traveling directly to the black hole in which they had dropped their prisoner. Jesse and Michael would be taking circumspect routes in order to throw anyone following off the trail as well as get an idea of who might be following. Only Raines knew the routes because he had arranged the travel personally in an effort to keep the various dogs off the scent.

It had taken up the rest of the day and into the evening going over how and where the former CIFA employee would receive his travel orders and what Mr Westen was supposed to do to keep up the charade. But first on Michael's agenda was to get fresh clothes before he headed off around the world again. So he had gone quickly out to the parking lot and into the night air and then settled swiftly into the Charger. But before he could turn the ignition key, the spy's phone lit up like an old fashioned switchboard. Texts and calls from Sam had accumulated while he had been incommunicado.

The first set of texts advising him that the cargo was going to be transferred from the Hialeah warehouse to the one in Kendell were mildly concerning, but far from alarming. Fiona could have decided to change locations for any number of reasons, though knowing his girlfriend as he did, she wouldn't have done it without a good tactical reason. Then the encoded voice mails had grown more frantic as Michael had listened to them whilst driving towards the loft. The convey that had been moving his mother, brother and, most importantly, his girlfriend had been attacked before they'd gotten more than a few blocks from their last location. The final message came as he was out of the car, getting ready to open the gates. Sam was on his way to collect Madeline and Nate, but Fiona had been taken.

Michael froze, momentarily unable to process the information given. Sam's voice had been beyond tense, but he had done the right thing. The other Westens who were hiding out in a hotel were probably not going to be bothered since they hadn't been taken in the initial attack, but that didn't mean someone wouldn't be back for them once they had secured their primary target.

He hadn't yet turned to get back into the black muscle car when he felt the barrel of a .9 mm press into his neck, followed by someone reaching up under his jacket and into his waistband to remove his own weapon. Michael drew a deep breath and tried to remain calm. The fact he hadn't been shot immediately meant whoever had gotten the drop on him wanted to chat more than they wanted to kill him.

"What's a matter, kid? No hello for your old buddy?"

Michael let out the breath he was holding on a long sigh. "What are you doing here, Lare?"

"Just dropped by with a little business proposition. Why don't we go back to your place and we'll talk about it."

"I'm kinda tied up right now," the younger man countered. "Maybe we could talk about it next week?"

Larry chuckled, not a pleasant sound. "oh, I think you're going to want to hear what I have to say, kid. In fact, I'm willing to bet the life of my new... uh, kidnap... er... kidnap-ee that you're going to want to hear what I have to say. Now get going!"

Mr Westen opened the gates, slowly moving through the metal barrier in almost a daze. Had his former mentor actually succeeded in not only finding, but taking, Fiona? As he started to turn back around, Mr Sizemore struck his former protégée across the face with his own gun.

As Michael rose shakily to his feet, Larry grabbed him by his lapels and pressed the SIG into his throat, almost choking him with it.

"I've always looked on you as a son," the older man confessed. "But that ended when you sent me to prison. So, if you don't want to get shot in the neck you do what I say and then you cross your fingers."

Michael saw the cold fire blazing in those ice blue eyes. He had seen if before, though it had _very rarely_ been sent in his direction. _It meant only one thing._

"Because, daddy is in one of those moods."

_Larry Sizemore was in killing mode._


	9. 501 High Risk, High Reward - Part 3

_**A/N: **__And here we are wrapping up our 5.01 reboot, __**High Risk, Reward**__. Hang on tight, because it's a thrill ride if we do say so ourselves. Thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone who follows and favorites and reads and reviews. We appreciate it SO much. __Again, we must apologize for getting behind on our regular posting schedule. Sometimes RL just needs to get a life of its own! But we hope you agree that it was well worth the wait._

_Tomorrow there will be __**an epilogue**__ for our new parents that wraps up all the threads in this tale in __**Reconnecting**__ on the M-page, and then on Thursday, during the normal Burn Notice time slot of 9 PM, Jedi's Pal in collaboration with Amanda Hawthorne will be posting __**True Believer**__, which is our speculations for 712 based on the spoilers and promos out there, so stayed tuned! The "Who Wrote Which Chapter" Contest starts at 9:15 PM ~LOL!_

_Much love and appreciation goes out as always to Amanda Hawthorn, Daisy Day and all your fabulous Burner girls on FB and Twitter and __**a special Happy B-day shout out to the Seventh Brat!**__ This one's for you! Next in this series will be the reboot of 4.01 __**When Irish Eyes are Smiling **__starting on 9/2/13._

_()()()()()()_

**5.01– High Risk, High Reward – Part 3**

_An alternate Season 5 premiere following on from 4.18 – Last Stand_

_()()()()()()_

_Covert operative is one of the most stressful jobs there is. Like soldiers, ER doctors and astronauts, spies have to schedule extended downtime for decompression. Carry that stress to long and it's easy to start missing details._

_Which leads to things like letting your psychopathic ex-partner who's supposed to have been extradited to an Albanian prison get the drop on you and possibly kidnap your girlfriend…._

Michael wasn't sure for a split second what was more frightening, the fact that Larry Sizemore had a gun to his neck or the possibility that he cared enough for Fiona to do anything the man wanted.

_First things first…._

"Okay, Lare, you win." Michael plastered his charming smile on his face. "What's the job?"

His former mentor continued to stare, as if trying to kill him with the intensity of his gaze, which was kind of redundant considering he had a SIG Sauer pressing into his windpipe. Slowly, a matching toothy grin spread over the older man's face as he released his grip on his one-time protégé and stepped back a few paces. "That's more like it, Kid; now gimme your phone."

Mr Westen reached into his pocket slowly and handed the device to Mr Sizemore carefully, who then started backing towards the green Jaguar that was parked in the gloom near the loft stairs. Michael debated whether or not to be grateful that Sam had not been there whenever Larry must have arrived. There was no love lost between the two men, though in his new military mode Sam might have made short work of the supposedly dead spy.

"Okay, lose the knives, too, and don't tell me you're not carrying. You forget who you're talking to."

Larry took a moment to admire the two blades he'd just been handed before stuffing them in his jacket pocket and getting back to business.

"Okay, Kid, here's the deal, you're going to help me break into a CIA black site prison and -"

"That sounds like a fun way to earn yourself a free trip to a much more secure penitentiary."

"Same old Michael, always such a pessimist, I've got this all worked out. See, Michael, I brought along some help." Larry popped the trunk open and the younger man was utterly relieved to discern that the unlucky occupant was not in fact Fiona. It took another moment to process the sight of who was actually stuffed in the minuscule space in the rear of the sports car, causing complete puzzlement as the older man hauled a bound and gagged Anson Fullerton out of the trunk.

"I believe you two know each other already because I happen to know that _you_, my friend, took a break in the middle of an operation today to have a long heart to heart with this government approved head shrink. And since I know you were never one for meds and happy talk, I'm guessing you two had something else to talk about."

Michael looked at the DIA psychologist with a furrowed brow. That he'd been dragged into the man's office in the middle of an op was true, but he couldn't imagine that anything he'd discussed with Fullerton would interest Larry.

"_You always managed to __cut through the red tape when you were working with Agent Sizemore, didn't you?"_

"_What's does this have to do with Larry?"_

"_Nothing, nothing at all, Michael, just an observation..."_

The covert operative stared harder at the rumpled blonde man, who was busy rearranging his jacket. It seemed like way too much of a coincidence. But he had bigger problems to ponder at the moment, such as if Larry hadn't taken Fiona, who had? And why did the formerly impeccably groomed doctor suddenly seem to have gained ten pounds around the middle?

"You like that, Kid? You know, I was never one for explosives; that was always your department. But I _can_ improvise when the situation calls for it. Go ahead, Doc, show him your new vest," he beamed.

Anson looked at Michael with a pleading expression before he pulled off the beige jacket he was wearing. Mr Westen belatedly realized that it was the same suit the man had had on that afternoon. Larry must have taken him sometime after their meeting earlier today.

"What can I say? I just get better with age. But it was really helpful of you to leave all that C-4 lying around upstairs. Or is it Fiona I should be thanking?" Mr Sizemore chuckled.

Michael couldn't take his eyes off the complex arrangement of C-4 and wiring stuffed inside the man's vest. It wasn't as intricate as either of them would have done, but it was serviceable and all the more dangerous for its lack of sophistication. The only moment in the whole mess was that the dark haired spy was now absolutely positive Larry'd had nothing to do with Fiona's disappearance or the forays into his mother's house or surveillance equipment that had been left in the attic.

"Okay, how does this help us break into a CIA black site? They'll put a bullet in his head before we can get close enough to the building to detonate it."

Anson gave him a startled look, which Michael ignored. He was concentrating on the armed ghost who was grinning broadly, but the malice alight in his pale blue eyes was discernible, even in the darkness.

"It's called motivation, Michael. You remember how that goes, right? The way we used to motivate people to help us get what we wanted? Well, I want you to take me to whatever black site they'll be holding that guy you bagged in Venezuela, what was his name? Kessler? I have it on good authority," and he reached out and poked Anson in the shoulder with the barrel of his gun, "That he's on his way to have a conversation with you."

The spy looked quickly between the sheepish DIA shrink and the armed lunatic and tried to put together how much Anson could have told Larry about the classified details of Kessler's capture. Raines had been right to suspect a leak in the Agency_. There was every possibility he was looking at it right now._

_Or it was equally possible that Mr Sizemore had persuaded Dr Fullerton to spill his guts before Larry did it for him in the most literal sense of the word._

"Still waiting to hear how this," and he waved his hand in the general direction of the man wearing an explosive vest, "is going to help us get into a black site with one of their highest priority prisoner's..."

"That is my insurance policy. You are gonna do what I say tonight and I say, let's go! Our friend here has already told me you know where my new kidnap-ee, Mr Kessler, is going to be in the next few hours. "

"Look, Larry, even if I had the location of the site, still I'm burned, remember? I don't have the clearances to get by the—"

"Oh, Jesus, you know what, Kid? You are really starting to piss the boss off," Larry declared in a dangerously low voice, pointing the handgun right between his former colleague's cobalt blue eyes. "And getting fired around here is a _real_ bitch. Now, you...back in the trunk." He didn't take his eyes off the younger man, merely checking in his peripheral vision to see whether or not Anson had obeyed.

As soon as Fullerton was back inside, Mr Sizemore slammed the trunk lid with his free hand and waved Michael towards the driver's seat with his weapon. As he walked past, his former mentor grabbed him tightly by the bicep and pressed the muzzle of his handgun into his skull just behind his left ear.

"Understand something, Michael, there's a couple million dollars waiting to be deposited in my account when Mr Kessler is back with his _friends_. So I might have let you skate a few times in the past just because of old time's sake, but if this doesn't go right, there's going to be a new job opening in the DIA and a whole new meaning to burned spy."

()()()()()

Her head pounded and her nose, throat and lungs all burned. She gasped in a breath and, as soon as she became marginally aware of her surroundings, her hands were flying to her stomach to assess the condition of her son. After a few minutes of soothing and probing, she was satisfied short of a hospital visit, which would be upcoming very soon she hoped, that her child was all right.

The next thing she noticed was that the dark room had only the small, metal framed bed with a reasonably thick mattress upon which she was lying. It could have been in an apartment or it could have been a storage room. There was a single metal door set in the wall directly opposite where the bed sat in the corner. She slowly tried to sit upright and found it way more difficult than it should have been.

"I apologize for the accommodations, but they're temporary," a muffled voice announced from the other side of the door. "Best I could do on short notice."

"Who are you? Why am I here?"

"Let's skip that for now. As to why—"

"Where are they?" she interrupted. "What have you done—"

"Michael's family is fine," the voice cut her off in turn, knowing immediately what she was asking. "You were the higher priority."

"Priority?" she echoed. "What's going on?"

"You're here because I need to you to talk some sense into Michael, let him know we're on the same side, that we have the same goal."

"You have a funny way of showing it," Fiona countered.

"No, not really, I think saving you from being kidnapped is a pretty good start."

"Then you didn't—"

"Oh, no, that was me. I had to make my move before the others did. See, I've been keeping a watch on all of Michael's family for him. He's getting close to finishing off the people that burned us and I didn't want him getting distracted from what he was doing."

"Well, if you're so damned noble, then show yourself and stop playing at whatever game you're about," the Irishwoman challenged.

"Games can be fun," he laughed lightly as he opened the door. "Depends on what you're playing." The figure was silhouetted in the door frame, the light shining from behind making it hard to see his features.

"What do you want from me?" Now that he was in the room, the voice sounded vaguely familiar and it disturbed her at some deep instinctive level.

"Are your ears still ringing?" he asked and cocked his head, a gesture of Michael's which would have indicated frustration for the spy, but it seemed to have no emotional resonance with this man. "I told you, I want you to explain to Michael that we're on the same side and I'm willing to let bygones be bygones, if he is. I want to help him finish taking down the organization that burned us. If we hurry, we can take out two of the shot callers with one hit and save Michael, too."

"Save Michael?" she gulped. "What's happened to him?"

"He's walking into a trap and I need you to help me convince him to trust me."

A light snapped on overhead, blinding her momentary. As her vision cleared, she couldn't help the startled inhalation of breath as the identity of her captor was finally revealed.

"You!"

"Yeah, me..." Mr Escher agreed pleasantly. "I guess this is going to be harder than I thought, given our past history. Seems I have to convince you first." Simon extended his open hand. "Let's go for a ride. We wouldn't want to keep Michael waiting. It could prove fatal."

Fiona's head swam, but she couldn't not go, not if there was a possibility he was telling the truth and Michael needed her help. She couldn't exactly sit around while the father of her child was killed and not cooperating with the man who held her captive was equally dangerous.

If he'd wanted to kill her or harm her, the tall man with the short cropped hair and wild eyes had already had plenty of opportunity to do so. She would have to play along and hope there was either a chance to escape or an opportunity for Michael to kill the madman offering her a hand up off the bed if that proved necessary.

()()()()()()()()()()()

Michael's mind was racing as fast as the green Jaguar he was driving through the pre-dawn streets towards Opa Locka Aiport and the CIA hangar cum offices with warehouse space located there. Larry had run over his cell phone with the car as they had left the loft and there was still the matter of the detonator the man held in his breast pocket. Worse yet, somehow, Dr Fullerton had gotten some, but not all, of the plans Raines had laid out for him and then had passed those onto his ex-partner.

He was supposed to meet a plane there that would take him from South Florida to the black site where Kessler was being held via a circuitous route which involved loads of plane changes and dead drops. He had to assume that Jesse was already on his way there as the tall man had left for DC straight away after the meeting with Raines. But his former recruiter had nailed it when he had deliberately let it be known that Michael would be meeting the plane that would be bringing Kessler to Miami instead of the flight taking the covert operative away to their secure site where he would be the one asking the questions. _So Raines had been right._ There was a leak, but was Fullerton the source or merely someone who'd had their professional confidential compromised by a blade to the throat? _Larry could be __very __persuasive._

"Cheer up, kid, soon this'll all be over," Mr Sizemore advised as the vehicle approached the undercover hangar. "Yea, it's kind of intimidating huh?" he added as they spotted the two guards approaching where they had parked. "But we do this right, we'll go through there like a hot knife through butter and, hey, you know how I like a hot knife." Larry's good humor was back for the moment.

"There's no need for knives, hot or cold. Let me handle this," Michael requested, slipping out of the vehicle with his former partner hot on his heels.

"Good evening, gentlemen, no need for excitement," he said as he approached the pair dressed in airport security uniforms. Their weapons and their earpieces betrayed their identities as not being just rent-a-cops. "Reaching... for... my... identification..." he dragged the words out as he reached towards his jacket with exaggerated slowness.

After a brief consultation with his ID and their earpieces, the taller of the two nodded. "They're expecting you, Mr Westen. Who's this?"

"He's with me. Top secret clearance."

"Yeah," Larry agreed, smiling broadly at the duo. "I could tell you, _but then I'd have to kill you." _

"This way," returned the shorter guard with a sour expression. Obviously he'd heard that lame joke more than once, not realizing just how true it was in this particular case. They sandwiched the newcomers between them as they escorted the two men in designer suits around the building to front of the hangar. Michael knew there would be two more men and tried to figure out how to contain the casual violence that was Larry Sizemore and subdue all four of the CIA personnel without bloodshed. _Taking out six spetsnaz operatives had been easy by comparison. He'd only needed one of them alive..._

Michael shuttered and remembered why he avoided all contact with his old partner. The places his mind drifted to just _thinking_ about Larry, never mind being in his homicidal presence, was not the kind of distraction he needed right now.

()()()()()()

Sam Axe had had one helluva day and the night wasn't going much better.

He had just returned from picking up Maddie and Nate and trying to hand them off to a CIA team that was supposed to be taking them into protective custody. But Michael's mother had fussed and protested until the former SEAL had finally acquiesced and let the pair return to Madeline's home. There was more than enough security personnel there from SecuriCorp, in addition to the local law enforcement that was on the Agency ordered protective detail. Mrs Westen just wanted to relax and have a smoke on her own couch.

Nate pretty much didn't care what happened as long as he got a bottle to go with it. So while he was quietly getting plastered in the living room, his mother was not so quietly interrogating all the people she could lay her hands on, including Jesse's tech expert, until her youngest son put a stop to it rather abruptly.

Sam left at that point. His subsequent call to Michael went straight to voice mail again.

The ex-SEAL arrived back at the loft in time to notice that someone else was occupying his parking space. He kept driving and parked in the valet line for the club. Slipping quietly from the Cadillac with his trusty set of binoculars, he set up on the adjacent rooftop. The older man was attempting to peer in the windows when he observed his arch nemesis, Larry Sizemore, escorting some poor unfortunate soul down the stairs bound and gagged and subsequently stuffing him into the trunk of the small sports coupe he had observed earlier.

Sam cursed as he looked at his phone and realized with all the recent excitement that he had forgotten to charge the battery. There was no help for it until he got back in the Cadillac.

By the time Mr Axe had hurried back to his car and retrieved it, he'd arrived just in time to catch a glimpse of Michael closing the gates and then getting into the said vehicle and driving away. He rightly ascertained that Larry was using whoever that was in the trunk to keep Michael in line. Although grateful it wasn't Fiona in the trunk, especially in her condition, it still left the question as to where she was and who had her, as it could still be Larry, or more accurately Larry's accomplice, whomever that might be.

Something else disturbed Sam and, after a moment's contemplation, he realized that the awkward bulges in the man's vest were most likely from a explosive materials. He cursed again for leaving Larry the time and the plastique necessary to construct something that would keep Michael from just shooting the cold blooded sonuvabitch at his earliest opportunity. As much as he wanted to search for Fiona, sticking with Mike was the priority at the moment.

He kept his distance, but kept them in sight all the same. Jesse had let him know that the diminutive Asian genius had not only discovered that Madeline's house had been covered in chemical tracers, but had also come up with a way for them to use the substances' signals too. He tried calling Jesse, as well as the CIA agent the younger man was so fond of with no results. Sam wasn't sure who else he could call at the Agency who would talk to him.

Following at a respectable distance for the trip across town, the GPS equipment led him to his target directly and soon the naval man pulled up across the parking lot from the black site hangar where he assumed Mike's flight would be leaving from. He watched while his friend and his enemy were escorted towards the front of the building by security and knew he had only a small window of opportunity to free the man in the trunk while everyone would be too busy dealing with the assault that was about to take place inside the hangar.

()()()()()()()()()

"How do you know where they are?" Fiona queried as the big black SUV flew from the abandoned office building in Overtown where she'd been 'staying' towards Opa Locka Airport.

"When Michael was in town last, I left a little present for him at his mother's house. The Bible on the dining room table and the surveillance equipment in the attic both had chemical tags on them. This ain't my first rodeo. I've been tracking him ever since," he announced as he checked over the machine pistol.

Ms Glenanne thought back to the night her wayward lover had first called her. Between that and what Sam had told her, she was surprised it had taken the madman this long to find her. The sophistication and the amount of resources Simon seemingly had at his disposal was truly frightening and it made her even more suspicious of him than she had been to start with. Her son seemed to concur with her opinion, as the baby reacted to her distress by pummelling her spine with pushes and kicks that had her clenching her teeth periodically.

"Why are you helping me? Helping us?" she demanded when she could breathe again.

"We might have had our differences in the past, but I'd work with the devil himself to take down the men that burned us," Mr. Escher explained congenially.  
"Fortunately, Michael has been far more helpful. He captured Mr. Kessler, who was the one handing out orders. Then he arranged that prisoner transfer so I could have some quality time with Mr. Anderson. It helped me to convince the man in charge that I would be more useful out of the box, helping to take down the rest of the organization, than locked away in a cage letting my talents go to waste."

"You're working directly for the CIA?" she stammered. Now, all the high dollar equipment and expensive tracking methods made sense and it make her sick. It was all she could do to concentrate on her driving and ensure that she was making the turns in concert with the GPS system.

"Off the books, of course," he grinned and it was totally unsettling. "They drop me into the hot spots where they don't want to get their hands dirty," he replied in the same haunted monotone that marked his every word. "The man seems to think he's got me on a tight leash, but I've been spending my free time making sure that the organization doesn't get their hands on Michael's family. Can't have him distracted from his mission, now can we?" Simon offered her a small smile.

"So, the CIA just let you out of prison after -" She stopped herself before she could say something that would upset him, though the large man seemed in a perfectly equitable mood.

"That's how it is when you're a useful weapon; someone is always going to want to take you out the holster and use you."

"You must have powerful friends in awfully high places," Fiona remarked casually, hoping he might drop a name or two.

The man shrugged as he continued to stare out the wind shield. "It's been very rewarding to work with Chief Card," Mr. Escher returned blandly. "He appreciates a job well done."

The not so petite Irishwoman fell back against the seat and tried to retain her composure, gripping the steering wheel until her knuckles ached. Wasn't that the name of the man who'd pulled Michael out of Ireland all those years ago? And he had _this monster_ on his payroll? Tom Card was a bigger bastard than she had ever imagined!

She couldn't get to the airport fast enough.

()()()()()()()()()()

"Alright, buddy, take a minute and catch your breath, but don't take too long."

Sam put down the crowbar he'd used to open the trunk and pulled the hyperventilating Anson Fullerton out of the small, enclosed and almost airless space. The redness of the man's face contrasted starkly with his blonde dishevelled hair.

"Aw, dammit," he sighed once he had the man upright and could see the details of the plastique that were contained within his beige vest. "Man, I wish Tinkerbelle were here..." He knew a good bit about explosive ordinance, but he was rather uncomfortable risking both their lives in an attempt to disarm the device and he had a pretty good idea of who was holding the detonator.

As if in answer to his request, a black SUV pulled alongside him while he was pulling the duct tape off of the not-so-good doctor's mouth. Sam closed the distance in two long strides, completely ignoring the other man in his hurry to greet the face smiling out the Navy man through the open window.

Mr Axe got so carried away in fact that he reached through the window and hugged her with one muscular arm. "Damn, lady, you sure are a sight for sore eyes! How did you get away?"

Surprisingly, Fiona didn't release him as he'd moved to back away from the vehicle. Keeping him pulled part of the way into the window, she answered quietly, "I didn't. He let me go. He said Michael was in trouble and then we-"

"Hold up there, Fi," Sam whispered, leaning in closer. "_Who_ kidnapped you and then just let you go?"

"_Simon,"_ she hissed into his ear.

"The guy they used to burn Mike and then dropped in a black hole? That Simon Escher?" Mr Axe struggled to keep his voice low and under control as he watched Larry's hostage freeing himself of the ropes that had bound him out of the corner of his eye. "He went to all the trouble of kidnapping you and then he cut you loose? Something's not right here, sister."

"He says he wants me to convince Michael that he's here to help us. I dropped-"

"I hate to interrupt such a touching reunion," Dr. Fullerton said, doing just that as he pressed the business end of a Glock-19 into Sam's spine.

While the ex-SEAL had been focused on the happy sight of a freed Fiona and the stunning news of Simon's escape from whatever pit the CIA had placed him in, Anson had untied himself and pulled the weapon he'd had concealed with him.

"But what I really require is your services right now, Ms Glenanne, and if you refuse, then Mr Axe here is going to be learning how to walk again, assuming he survives."

()()()()()()

Nothing had gone the way Michael would have wanted it from the moment they entered the hangar portion at the front of the building. A quick perusal of the space confirmed the layout he'd been given was accurate. The offices, containing all the security cameras and communications areas, were on a second story landing with large glass windows looking down onto the storage and hangar areas below. While they were close to the uniformed guards who had escorted them inside, there were two other agents who remained upstairs behind what was most assuredly bullet proof glass.

His intention had been to lure the men posing as airport security into the warehouse portion where he could appear to render them unconscious before dealing with the two suits manning the security equipment up the flight of painted metal stairs.

But there'd been a shout from the control room and Larry had taken off before Michael could finish smooth talking the uniforms into accompanying him into the back. Whatever was on the monitor had infuriated Mr Sizemore, because he had taken his semi-automatic out and dispatched the two men upstairs in a lightning fast blur of deadly motion.

Which left Michael no choice but to head butt the man closest to him, fortunately the shorter one, dropping him unconscious to the ground before wrapping the taller one in his signature choke hold. Unfortunately, by the time he had accomplished this, the officially expired agent had made his way back, bounding down the staircase and cold cocking his former protégée with a vicious blow to the head using the side of his handgun. Michael fell stunned to his knees.

"I warned you, I told you not to test me and now you are gonna find out what happens when you do." His ex-partner grabbed him tightly by his hair and jerked his head back hard while pulling the younger man to his feet. Force marching him across the room and up the stairs, the incensed ex-operative slammed Michael's head into the counter top upon which the security monitors sat, leaving the dark haired man dizzy and nauseous as he tried to focus on what had upset the other man. On the camera, he saw through blurred eyes the images of Fiona, her back to the camera, her long auburn hair spread over a loose, black flowing dress she wore, working to disarm the deadly vest that Anson Fullerton was still wearing, but there was something odd about it.

"How about I just take this detonator," Larry snarled through clenched teeth as he shoved the aforementioned device in his former associates face. "And blow up good old Sam and Fi along with your doctor friend, huh? How would that feel, Michael?"

"Why is your hostage holding a gun on Sam?" the younger man slurred as he tried to make sense of what he was looking at.

"What the hell-?" Mr Sizemore was uncharacteristically speechless.

"Who did you say hired you again?" Although his head swam, Mr Westen knew he'd found Raines' leak. Now if he could just turn the older man's wrath on Dr Fullerton, he might have a chance of making it out of this alive.

()()()()()()

"The hard part was getting Larry out of prison. Couldn't let him know who I was because I had to lead him here…and to, well, me..." Dr Fullerton smiled smugly as Sam attempted to shrug into the vest that was far too small for him without all the C-4 crowded into it, urged on by the Glock being pointed at the center of his Tommy Bahamas shirt.

When the DIA psychologists had first introduced himself and let them know who he was, the ex-SEAL was certain he could have taken the bastard, but Sam couldn't risk blowing up Fiona, never mind himself, as he wasn't totally sure who had the detonator at this point in the game.

Fiona for her part sat on her knees and silently fumed. The pain of kneeling on the black asphalt tarmac was playing hell with her lower back as well as her lower limbs and she was almost frustrated to tears. Had she not been almost eight months pregnant, the smarmy little troll would have eaten that gun already.

"But it was worth it. When I saw his file, I knew that creepy father-son thing that those two have was just what the doctor ordered," the traitorous psychologist continued to crow as Fiona knelt behind Sam and attempted to re-wire the vest so it looked like it was functional without triggering the explosion of the less-than- stable device.

"You took quite a big risk, Anson," Sam was constrained to point out. "Larry could have killed you."

"You still don't get it, do you?" the bespectacled blonde continued to explain the brilliance of his scheme. "I hired him. I hired Larry. He doesn't know it, but I've been pulling the strings all along. "

She put the finishing touches on the wiring, hoping for all their sakes that her not so steady hands had done the job adequately. _Whar the hell is thot fecking lunatic? _she wondered. Her passenger had ordered her to drop him off near Sam's Cadillac. She had been too concerned with what was going on in front of her to worry over much at the time about where the man had disappeared to.

Silently, she cursed a moment over her tactical oversights, but what else could she have done? He had was holding a MAC-10 and he'd hadn't yet pointed it in her direction, so why give him a reason to? But Fiona couldn't escape the fear that she'd somehow driven Michael's executioner straight to him.

It was a testament to how dire their situation was that the question of how Michael would react to her pregnancy had become completely secondary to how he would respond to the three of them being held hostage.

()()()()()

"_I've gone to alotta trouble to hold all the cards today and that's where we are."_

The look on Larry's face as he listened to his no longer useful kidnap-ee outline how he had manipulated the situation would have made lesser men tremble in fear. Michael, on the other hand, had seen it before, both on his one time mentor's face and, sadly, in the mirror of his own victims' eyes as well.

As he stared up at the ceiling, the back of his head now aching as much as the front, Mr Westen decided just to be grateful that Mr Sizemore had slammed the chair he was in backwards before blasting the monitor at close range. As the glass shards flew in every direction, the younger man had enough sense left to cover his face with his arms, which is why he probably missed the other figure stepping into the room and relieving the enraged older operative of the detonator before he could enact his promised revenge by killing everyone in the parking lot outside the building. There was a momentary scuffle before Larry's body thudded to the floor next to Michael's.

"You just rest up a minute, Michael. I'll take it from here," a voice somewhere behind and above his head intoned, the sound of it freezing his blood far worse than anything that had happened yet today.

His vision was going in and out of focus, but there was no mistaking the figure that loomed over him, holding his friends' lives in his hands.

"Simon," he gasped before the blackness took him.

()()()()()()()

Anson Fullerton, in a word, was full of himself and, while he was a clever man, his arrogance had led him to dismiss his captives as less capable than the dark haired man he had planned on manipulating by holding their lives hostage.

So it never occurred to him that was Fiona more than able, even in her current condition, of wiring the vest such that it only appeared to be in working order. Neither did he realize she was also able to silently communicate to Mr. Axe that once she had used the lock pick to open the back door as their captor had demanded, she would pretend to be incapable of getting up quickly, which actually wasn't that far from the truth at the moment.

They didn't like this plan they had concocted with nothing more than eye-rolls and head nods, as evidenced by the glares they shot one another as the pair then surreptitiously handed out the responsibilities they were each to follow. But in the end, Sam did walk through the door in front of Anson, gambling that since the braggard hadn't flashed the detonator at them, he probably didn't have it and Fiona did pretend without too much acting skills to be stuck and required the use of the inside push bar to haul herself stiffly off the ground.

The rest happened swiftly, as she shoved the door closed, hitting Anson with it and knocking him into Sam's waiting arms. The pregnant Irishwoman hesitated probably longer than her companion would have liked had he known before jumping in the SUV and speeding away to call for reinforcements. Praying that the ex-SEAL was indeed as competent to handle the situation as he claimed to be, Fiona finally reached Jesse, explained their tactical problems and got the promise of back-up on the way immediately.

Blue green eyes latched onto the hangar in front of her as the engine idled and she fought the urge to barrel back through the entry doors when the faux CIA black site exploded in front of those eyes and she stamped on the accelerator, screaming her lover's name.

()()()()()()

_Gratitude to Sam Axe... what an alien concept that had once been... _

Not quite five years ago, the only thought she'd had upon seeing the man who had ruined her arms deal back in the day was how quickly and accurately she could launch a beer bottle at his head. Now the sight of him stealing into their hospital room brought a warm smile to her face.

"How's he doing?" Sam asked in a quiet whisper.

Fiona looked over at the man she loved who was lying sedated, recovering from his injuries, in the adjacent bed. She had the older man who was perched on the edge of the chair next to her bed to thank for their highly irregular room accommodations, as well as for the fact that Michael was still alive at all.

"They say he's doing better," she answered happily, her thumb stroking over the back of their entwined hands, carefully avoiding all the IV's on both of them.

The weary woman knew Sam had buddies everywhere, but she would have never bet that her friend would have the influence to force the Powers That Be at Mount Sinai Hospital to put a pregnant woman on medically supervised bed rest in the same private room with a man who was mending from being blown up for the third time in his life. The more she thought about it though, the more she suspected that Sam's new relationship with Ms. Elsa Dearbon, owner of an international chain of hotels and hospital board member as well as top ten percent donor, had more to do with it than Mr Axe's charming persuasion.

"And how's our other boy doing?" the older man beamed at her and then her stomach when she laid her free hand upon it.

"Kicking the crap out of me...thanks to you..."

_She had rushed into the burning building, the panic making her heart hammer so hard she thought she was going to be sick. She was Fiona Glenanne, she had stared death in the face and spit in his eye, but today she was a woman desperate not to bring a fatherless child into the world._

_She'd found Michael and Larry together in what looked like a pile of debris that had been blasted off the upper wall based on the composition of the blacken building materials and the remnants of the support structure at the back of the building. The air was fast filling with smoke and she knew they had not long to get out. She tried to rouse Michael, who was mercifully still breathing, to no avail. The blood matted in his hair told her he was unlikely to respond. _

_The soft groans that emitted from Mr. Sizemore left her with a potentially more cooperative captive and a swift and satisfying kick in the ribs promptly got his attention. She'd ordered him to pick up Michael and carry him from the inferno._

"_Well, that is tough talk coming from a tiny little psychopath in a what is that? A maternity dress?" He'd laughed aloud at her predicament, but had complied nonetheless when she'd pressed the delivery end of the Mini-14 she'd found in the SUV to his temple to show him she'd meant business._

_Once outside, she couldn't help but cough up the lungfuls of tainted air that she had swallowed following behind, making sure that Larry delivered her man into the open air._

"_I have always admired you, Fiona," he'd remarked conversationally as he'd lowered Mr Westen's limp form off his shoulders. "I mean with Michael's smarts and your stomach for violence, I mean, hell, the two of you could almost be... me." Abruptly, he'd shoved the insensible body at her and the pregnant woman had ended up flat on her back, pinned under the burden of her lover's unconscious weight._

"_I did say almost, didn't I?" As he'd taken a long knife from his jacket pocket and advanced towards her, suddenly his expression changed from one of delighted malice to one of stunned surprise. _

_It had happened in an instant, but somehow it seemed to play out in slow motion in front of her eyes. A red dot appeared in the center of Mr Sizemore's forehead and then skull, blood and brain matter exploded from behind his head. He sank to his knees slowly, never losing that expression of bald amazement as his body collapsed onto the asphalt. _

"_Thank you, Larry, for making my day. That really made me smile," she'd heard Sam intone as the familiar smell of gun powder hit her nose. He was still holding the weapon that had ended the life of his life long adversary in the contest for Mr Westen's soul when he'd knelt by her side to tried to roll Michael off of her. _

"Believe me, Tinkerbelle, the pleasure was all mine." Mr Axe smiled even wider still if such a thing was possible and Fiona knew they were thinking of the same thing. "And no, they still haven't found Simon or all the pieces of Anson yet," he informed her before she could ask.

_After liberating the detonator from Larry's possession, Simon had come downstairs just in time to help Sam finish off Dr Fullerton. It seemed that Mr Escher was keen to have a conversation with Management, who had disappeared after their last run in, and he was convinced that Anson could help him locate his partner if sufficiently motivated. _

_As soon as he was freed of the C-4 laden clothing, the ex-SEAL had headed towards his friend's last given location and Simon had headed out the back door with his prisoner in tow. A forensic examination of the scene concluded that the free roaming psychopath had put the vest and the vehicle's owner in the trunk of the Jaguar before disappearing after he had initiated the blast that had taken down part of the building, knocking Sam off his feet and providentially behind some heavy crates which had protected him and collapsing the second story office where Michael and Larry had been left out cold._

"But, hey, we had the baby shower without you. Maddy couldn't wait. I had to give her something to do to keep her from coming over here and hounding you two twenty four seven."

She sighed. "She means well."

"Yea, I know, but listen, we wanted to get you something special, me and Elsa... and Barry, too. Your favorite little weasel chipped in, too, and he did all the paperwork."

She wrinkled her brow. With those three contributing, the possibilities were endless. Fiona wanted patiently for him to deliver the news Sam was so obviously waiting to share.

"Remember when you and Elsa were talking about how much you missed the farm you grew up on?"

She nodded, a faint smile gracing her lips. It had startled her to learn that Sam's impeccably coiffed girlfriend had started out as one of many on a farm not dissimilar to the one she had grown up on back in Ireland.

"And impossible it was going to be to baby proof the loft?" he continued. "And, you know, I've kinna gotten comfortable in my new operations center, right?"

"Sam..." she drew out his name into multiple syllables. "What did you do?"

"Remember that horse farm out in Davie you were going to use for a safe house? Well, it's your house now, lady, all twenty five acres of it. We closed the deal yesterday." He was smiling so brightly now, it almost hurt her to look at him.

"Sam," she whispered so quietly that he had to lean in close to hear, which was what she'd intended. Fiona pressed a light kiss to his cheek and then grinned just as wide at his stunned expression as she said, "Thank you."

"Okay, who are you and what have you done with Fiona Glenanne," he laughed. "You know, I've heard all kinds of stuff about these pregnancy hormones, but I never believed it until now. You're going soft on me, sister."

"Hush," she commanded. "Don't ruin this or I will get out of this bed and kick your ass." She looked from Sam's shining eyes over towards her man, still deeply asleep but getting better.

"We're gonna have a farm, Michael," she said softly, not caring if Sam heard her or not. She had survived so much to get here and she was going to appreciate what lie ahead for them. "We're gonna have puppies and kittens and geese and ducks and horses and a whole bunch of fat freckled babies, just like a proper Irish man should."

"Don't forget the guns and the C-4," Sam chuckled behind her. "Damned skippy."

"Aye, we'll have gun toting babies, jus' like me mammy did back home."

And Michael Westen slept on, oblivious to the things that laid in wait for him when he'd awaken.


	10. 401 When Irish Eyes Are Smiling

**Puppies, Kittens and Gun Toting Babies.**

**A/N: **First of all we would like to say a very big thank you for the many wonderful reviews for True Believer, our first joint story with Amanda Hawthorn. We were all amazed by your response and kind words. For those who guessed who wrote which piece the correct answer was, Sam – Jedi Skysinger, Michael – Purdy's Pal, and of course Fiona – Amanda Hawthorn.

We would also like to send out many thanks for the reviews & PMs we received for our fast paced all action, bad guy packed AU for S5, High Risk High Reward, and it's M rated companion piece, Reconnecting. To all the awesome people out there who leave reviews, favorite or put our stories on your alerts we apologize for not always being able to send out personal replies, you all _ROCK_.

Our AU for 4.01 begins after the events of S3.16 with just a couple of changes to the original plot line. In our story, during the events of S3.09, _Long Way Back_, Michael kills Thomas O'Neill before he can pass word back to Ireland that Michael McBride is really an American spy named Michael Westen. And then later on, after Michael gets wrapped up in the mischief Mason Gilroy is plotting, Fiona leaves Miami to return home to Ireland for reasons which will become clear by the end of this chapter.

_()()()()()()_

**4.01– When Irish Eyes Are Smiling**

_An alternate Season 4 premiere following on from 3.16 – Devil You Know_

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_Barely conscious, cold and wet, only staying upright because of the men on either side of him gripping his arms tightly, half carrying, half dragging him, to whatever fate they had in store for the unwelcome guest to their shores. In his current condition, Michael Westen thought the shackles on his wrists and ankles and the hood pulled over his head all seem a bit excessive. But even blind and beaten, he could sense the closed in walls of long hallways made of concrete._

Cold leached into Michael's bones and he woke up with a start, unable to contain the loud groan which forced its way past his swollen lips when he sat up too quickly. Pain shot through his body, from what he suspected was a cracked rib or two, but just as bad was the agonizing throb concentrated mostly around the left side of his face. His jaw felt swollen and ached mercilessly, while his eye was puffed up and he could feel the pull of dried blood on his cheek and the taste copper filled his mouth. Falling back onto the cold hard floor of his prison cell, he curled up in a ball and waited for the pain to ease.

Sometime later, Michael tentatively opened his one good eye and attempted to look around. All he could see at first was a brilliant whiteness: shiny, white tiled walls and a whitewashed concrete floor. _Where the hell was he?_

With a faint whimpering groan, he made another, slower attempt to sit up and that was when he realized several things at once. The reason why he felt so cold was because whoever had taken him had stripped away his clothing, leaving him in just his boxers. There was a burn mark over his heart from what he guessed was a stun gun and lastly, only when he raised a hand to examine the damage to his chest, he noticed he still wore the shackles on his wrists and ankles which had been snapped on earlier during his capture.

_Vaughn was locked away. They got him, they got the whole organization…_ _There was nobody left. _

Shaking his head and then wincing at the added agony that particular movement brought on, Michael fought against a rising tide of nausea. _But if not Vaughn, then who?_

_Things had been getting out of hand with Mason Gilroy. Sam had been pissed with him for getting into a car with the freelance psychopath and, after helping the British hired killer steal a fifty caliber machine gun from a group of white supremists, he was beginning to agree with his best friend's analysis of the situation; maybe it was time to hand the whole affair over to the FBI._

_He had known it wasn't going to be easy to convince Agents Lane and Harris to take an interest in anything _he_ brought them, but he'd had to try. He'd met them beside the Miami River, the younger, taller Agent Lane taking the lead in their disbelief._

"_Let's get this straight. You want us to stop Gilroy, who no one can prove is in the country?"_

_Followed by Agent Harris joining in. "From hi-jacking a plane that no country will acknowledge. That's rich, Westen."_

_The only time they had shown any interest had been when he had mentioned the gun. "Gilroy is in possession of a fifty calibre machine gun. I have first-hand knowledge."_

_But as soon as he admitted he hadn't got any other information, they had jumped in their car and told him to stop wasting their time._

"_A little suggestion for you... Next time you want to cry wolf, do it at a cafe at South Beach, when you're buying."_

_He'd been left with no choice but to carry on alone. Well not exactly alone… Sam was there with him all the way. He still had no idea how the former SEAL had managed it. But two days later, when he was being hunted down by every agency with an acronym, Sam Axe had worked a little bit of magic._

_Sitting in a Dade County holding cell after his running battle with Simon Escher, he had been surprised as hell when all of a sudden the door opened to reveal Agents Lane and Harris. They had a deal for him and he had no time to think about it._

"_Long story short, Westen, we've done a bit of investigating on our own and we believe you. There is a team upstairs flashing all kinds of high level clearance at the front desk demanding that the cops hand over you and Escher to them." Harris took a breath._

_Lane opened a case he was carrying and held out what looked like a test tube._

"_Have you ever heard of micro RFID trackers?" The younger of the two agents asked._

"_Special Forces use them to keep tabs on terrorists. They're the size of a grain of rice." He'd peered at the test tube._

"_No, they make them smaller now, much smaller."_

"_You want to tag me?"_

"_That's right, once you step outside, we should be able to follow you via a satellite link. We'll be able to see where they take you and, if it turns out these guys are part of some sort of illegal covert organization..."_

"_You guys will be able to sweep them all up and take all the glory," he had finished Agent Harris' sentence._

"_So, are you in, Westen?"_

"_Sure." He guessed with one half of Miami blown up and the other half on fire, he had finally got the two FBI agents to take him seriously._

_He had been held by Vaughn Anderson in a tiny prison cell for five days before a Special Forces team had assaulted the document processing site in the depths of the Chilean jungle._

Michael looked around the bare room again. _That had been four months ago, so where was he now?_

As his head cleared, he scanned the room more closely and that was when he caught sight of a large meat hook dangling over a metal grate in the center of the room. Following the hook, he saw it was suspended nearly seven feet up in the air by a short length of chain and then a thick piece of rope which ran through a pulley.

At the sight, a cold pit opened in Michael's stomach. _He knew exactly where he was_. He just didn't know how they got to him so quickly. He was sure he had been careful. Nobody apart from Sam knew he had left Miami to risk crossing the wild Atlantic ocean in the middle of winter for the unwelcoming shores of Northern Ireland.

_After his release from Vaughn's secret prison, he had spent a month answering questions, mostly being asked by a young CIFA agent with a sharp mind and a very large dossier on another rival organization which had been in direct conflict with Vaughn's operation. It had taken all his self-control not to be sucked into helping the younger agent go after this second group._

_But, after so long being locked up and treated like a criminal by the very people who should have been grateful for his interference, he had had enough. In truth, all he had wanted was to be with a certain Irishwoman who had disappeared off the grid completely. All he knew was she had returned to Dublin and then, a month later, she had vanished from sight._

_It had taken Sam three weeks to arrange a full set of ID for him and another month to find the right Union official at Miami Port Authority to bribe into getting him a job on a freighter traveling to Ireland. The whole time he freely admitted he had been an impatient pain in the ass, so much so that, in the end, Sam had gone out and found him a couple of side jobs just to keep him busy and out of the way. A lawyer in trouble with the toughest biker gang in South Florida and then, while researching for the right man to get him aboard a ship to Ireland, they had ended up helping out a security guard who was having trouble with a local wise guy._

_But in the end, he had made the journey to the Emerald Isle on a cargo ship, docking in Derry Harbor almost four months to the day from the arrest of Vaughn Anderson. From Derry, he had journeyed south with a lorry driver on his way to deliver a forty foot container full of televisions to Dublin. His plan had been simple: stay out of sight and try to make contact with Sean Glenanne and pray the Irishman still thought of him as a friend._

Michael woke up again. He hadn't even realized he had fallen asleep. He guessed it was a result of the cold and a possible concussion from the blows he had taken during his capture. He knew he should be thinking of a way to escape the predicament he found himself in. The sound of his stomach rumbling and the dryness of his mouth telling him he had already started to lose track of time.

Wiping a hand over his eyes, Michael climbed up to his feet. If he just lay down and gave into the cold and his fatigue, he was going to end up too weak to fight when they finally came for him. He seriously doubted there was a way out, but he had to at least look and try to come up with a way of breaking free. If he was in the hands of the man he thought he was, a quick death trying to escape was far more preferable to the waiting around to be tortured.

Shuffling around the room, the chains on his ankles clinking in a sharp reminder of how much trouble he was in, he soon discovered there was nothing he could use, not even a single loose tile, to help him get free. And all the while his eyes kept getting drawn back to the hook hanging down from the ceiling. He couldn't die like that, suspended in the air like a piece of meat. Maybe he would get the chance to ask to see her one last time.

"_I know you don't like what I'm doing. But you know it's just about the job? You know that, right?"_

He'd tried for maybe the fiftieth time to explain why he was selling his soul to Tom Strickler and she had given him a look he hadn't seen since his first time in Dublin; she had never understood why he did what he did.

"_Right… It's about patriotism and duty and the scared call of - whatever."_

Of course, that hadn't been the end of it. At every opportunity she had tried to let him know how unhappy she was with what he was doing. But he just hadn't been paying attention.

"_Why must everything you do revolve around getting your old job back?"_

He should have listened to her, he knew that now. But twenty-twenty hindsight was a wonderful thing. She had even tried beating some sense into him. But that hadn't worked either. Was he really that dense?

"_I know you're not thrilled about me reaching out to the intelligence community, but..." As she pounded into the pad he held in front of his body, grateful for its protection._

"_I don't have a problem with it..." Back fist… roundhouse kick which nearly took his head off, sidekick to the center of the pad driving him backwards. _

"_You want your old job back..." A rapid series of killer punches. _

"_I said I'd be supportive..." Reverse kick. _

"_Not a problem..." Two full power front kicks, the last one aimed at his groin. _

He had been oh so grateful for the pad - and for the knock on the door.

Somewhere along the way, Fiona had given up on him and in the end she had left, running all the way back to the safety of her family, knowing it was the one place he couldn't follow her.

He wiped a hand over his eyes, determined not to break. He had to stay strong and figure a way out of this cell and the immediate threat of a long drawn out death. He was cold, hungry and rapidly becoming dehydrated, desperation was setting in because he knew the longer he stayed imprisoned, the less chance he stood of ever getting away.

Then suddenly the sound of hollow footsteps outside his cell caught Michael's attention. This could be his only chance to escape, or if escape was impossible, maybe his gaoler would be willing to listen to his pleas. _If Liam Glenanne was going to make good on his promise from all those years ago, he at least wanted a chance to say goodbye._

The locks scraped back and then the door creaked open as Michael hurriedly got to his feet. Two men entered the room, with balaclavas hiding their features and hair. As soon as they cleared the door, they split up, approaching him from opposite sides. Each move they made was swift and coordinated, ready to deal with any resistance their prisoner cared to offer.

"Sean?" Michael choked on the name as he thought he recognized the taller and slimmer of the men. "There's no need for this..."

He tried to keep both men in his sight, but it wasn't easy with the leg irons interfering with his ability to maneuver. "I'll come quietly..." They both held long sticks that looked suspiciously like cattle prods. "Just let me speak to F-"

Michael went down, his vision greying as he lay convulsing on the hard concrete floor. Before he had a chance to recover, his attackers were on him, freeing his hands but only long enough to drag his arms behind his back before securing them again.

"S-Sean, I-" Michael got no further as his mouth was sealed shut with a strip of duct tape and then, much to his horror, a head bag was pulled over his head and the draw string pulled tight around his neck to stop him pulling it off.

"It'll all be over soon, Westen," a harsh voice informed him in a matter of fact tone.

Then he was pulled to his feet and half carried, half dragged out of his cell and along a hallway, his bare feet catching on the rough surface. Seconds later, he was hit by an icy cold breeze and the feel of concrete under his feet replaced by the sensation of a gravel path.

He flinched and resisted when his tormentors picked him up and then threw him down on his side in what he guessed was the back of a panel van. He heard the solid thud of doors being shut and then the grumbling noise of a diesel engine starting up.

Michael lay still while trying to work out if he was alone in the back of the van. If he was alone he might be able to wriggle round and maybe find something to use to help him break free. Hearing no sounds which would give away the presence of a guard, he made a small move to stretch out and instantly felt the light touch of a heavy boot on his thigh.

"Don't ya be givin' us trouble har, Westen. Ya had plenty o' warnin' not ta come back."

Michael closed his eyes. He was sure now; one of his captors was definitely Sean Glenanne, for all of the Irishman's earlier words of friendship.

_He had just finished fixing a clean dressing to Fiona's bullet injured arm when he had heard the rooms other patient stir._

"_Michael, get over here," Sean had called out from the larger of Madeline's couches. "So, it's Westen, now is it?" he had growled out._

"_It has been for a while. I owe you an explanation." He had expected recriminations and anger, but instead all he had gotten was acceptance._

"_Back in Ireland, thar war a lotta questions about if ye war one o' us. I always thought ya war... Now, I know I wa' right."_

"_Thank you, Sean."_

"_Ya have nuttin' ta thank me fer. Ya got ta O'Neill befer he could out ya ta his contacts in Ireland. Our sister takin' up wit' an American spy... If he'd made tha call, or if he'd been arrested, thar woulda been hell ta pay..." He'd then looked a bit uncomfortable. "Am gonna have ta tell tha family... Ya can never set foot in Ireland ag'in, ya know thot?"_

Michael had been counting on Sean's goodwill, but he had underestimated the force of Liam's personality and the control the oldest of the Glenanne boys exerted over the whole clan.

As bleak as his future looked, Michael still tried to hold on to some hope. The fact they were moving him was a bonus in some ways. While in that room he had been worried about torture. At least now it seemed they were more interested in just executing him. _Fiona couldn't know what the head of the family was doing._ Michael worked on loosening the piece of duct tape covering his mouth, while at the same time not drawing any unwanted attention his way. _If he could talk to Sean, convince his one-time friend to get word to his sister...Whatever happened, he would never believe Fiona had anything to do with what was happening to him now._

"Here, we wouldnae want ya ta catch a cold." Michael flinched and then realized he had been covered by what felt like a sleeping bag. "We've gotta a long way ta go yet."

It wasn't long before the swaying of the van and the soft rumble of the engine lulled the weakened spy into an uneasy sleep. _Maybe this was what he deserved?_ He hadn't realized what he had lost until she had sneaked away. _He'd_ had no idea what it felt like to have somebody you care about disappear without so much as a word.

"_This moving out of town thing... If you're trying to make a point…"_

_She had as good as given away her car. That had been his first clue to how serious she was about leaving Miami. Up to that point, he hadn't truly believed she was going to abandon him. Fiona had somehow become a constant in his life, an anchor he came cling to when the sea of deceit he was swimming in became too much or he became lost._

"_I'm not trying to make a point. Michael. I'm trying to make a change. I'm going home. I told my mother to expect me."_

"_We have one fight and you decide to go back to Ireland?" _

"_This isn't about one fight, Michael. If you didn't see this coming, you weren't paying attention. You're too worried about your own future for there to one for us."_

_He had taken it as another one of her sly digs and, at the time, he was getting sick of her lack of support. He had been so very close to getting everything he wanted; everything he thought he wanted._

"_I'm not doing this for me. Fiona, I'm out in the cold and the longer I stay there, the more I endanger everyone in my life."_

"_Don't you pretend this is about us. It's about YOU...Which is fine... It's – it's just time I – I did what I need to do, too."_

_He had thought when he killed Tom Strickler that he had proven to her once and for all how much she meant to him. He had thrown it all away for her, yet she had still run away._

_Going after Mason Gilroy had been different; the man had needed to be stopped. Why couldn't she have understood that? And why back to Ireland where he couldn't follow if he wanted to live?_

Michael woke up as the van left the smooth surface of a road and o to what felt like a track as it began to bounce and slide about before finally coming to a stop. He could feel his heart thumping in his chest. _Was this it? Had he arrived at his execution spot?_ He couldn't help jerking away when a hand grabbed hold of his arm and then the surprise he felt when the handcuffs were undone, followed by the leg irons.

Blasts of icy cold air made him gasp, revealing to his captors that he had managed to free himself of the duct tape gag.

"Get dressed, Westen... Ya try anyt'ing funny an' we'll knock ya out ag'in."

On hearing the door slam shut, Michael ripped off the head bag and drew in a sharp breath of fresh air. Shuddering in the cold, he quickly grabbed up the clothes that have been left for him, realizing they were his own.

Throwing on his jeans, under shirt, the thick cream-colored woolen jumper, it was only when he reached for his footwear he saw there were no socks and the laces had been removed from his boots. If he attempted to run, he would be slowed down by his footwear or, if he discarded them, by bare feet on what was undoubtedly going to be unfriendly ground.

A bang on the side of the vehicle jerked him back to the moment and then the door opened. "C'mon, ar' ya not ready yet? Get out har now."

Cautiously, he stepped out into the frosty air of an early morning in the depths of the countryside. The two men who had escorted him from his cell stood wide apart, holding long barreled shotguns across their chests. Then he saw the man he had known was behind his imprisonment all along standing by a wooden gate, his hands thrust into the deep pockets of his long overcoat.

_"Thot is Liam Glenanne, head o'the family now and one o' the most feared IRA interrogators. If ye ever see thot man other than over a bowl of stew at the family dinner, yer cover's blown and yer about t'die a most unpleasant death."_ The words of his first MI6 handler came back to him from all those years ago, before he had even set eyes on Miss Fiona Glenanne.

For a full minute, the two men stared at each other. To Michael's eyes, the older man looked no different than how he had done twelve years earlier: lean, with sharp angular features and icy cold pale blue eyes which seemed to pierce the soul.

"Walk wit' me, Westen," the Irishman ordered brusquely, turning away.

Knowing he had no choice, Michael joined the older man and they walked through the gate and onto a large grass covered field.

"So, are you walking me to my grave, Liam?" Michael didn't bother hiding his American accent; he knew to do so would have been taken as an insult.

"I told ya, ya couldnae be wit' me sister… I tol' ya ta stay away, an' if ya ever came back, I'd put ya up on a hook like I did thot piece o' turncoat scum who ya an' yar Brit friends used ta get close ta us."

Michael bowed his head. Ever since he had first woken up and realized where he was being held, he had been fighting to keep the image of his first MI-6 handler hanging off that very same meat hook out of his mind. Swallowing, he pushed the grisly memory to the very back of his mind and turned his attention to his most pressing problem.

He had two men behind him and Liam Glenanne at his side, the ground around them was rough and uneven and he had no laces in boots. At the present, he guessed his chances of successfully making a run for freedom had to be close to zero. So, before resorting to drastic methods, Michael set about convincing Liam that he had broken his banishment only to come for Fiona.

"Before you, ah, well - you know..."

"Ya wanta see Fiona," the older man interrupted. "Mabbe she don' wanta see ya. Have ya thought about thot? Ya hurt har more than ya know."

Michael ran his tongue over his dry lips. He had no idea how long he had been without food or water, but along with his cracked ribs and bruised face, hunger and dehydration were all taking a toll on his ability to think clearly.

"Liam, I'm out, completely out. The organization which employed me..." He paused wishing he knew how much knowledge the older man had about his situation. "They're not going to reinstate me. I left Miami to find her... Please, I have to speak to her."

A small piece of hope raised its head when Liam stopped and his pale blue eyes stared into Michael's deeper blue orbs. "Ya still love har, dontcha?"

Michael blushed and nodded. He had been a fool to ever deny how he felt about this man's sister. "Yeah... I think - yes, I do," he finally confirmed.

Liam nodded back, his features still set in grim lines. "Love isn't easy fer tha likes of ya an' me. It's a weakness which yar enemies kin an' will use against ya... I've spent me whole life protecting tha ones I love - an' ta be honest wit' ya, Westen, I never thought ya had it in ya to do tha job."

"I'm done. I've left it all behind, for her, for Fi... I risked everything coming here..."

"Ya done cuz they've thrown ya out, man. Yar country is done wit' ya, not you wit' it," came the blunt retort.

Michael sighed, not ready to give up. "All I want is Fiona. I want to see her, please." He laughed, a reckless release of all his pent up tension. "A last request if you like."

"Ya can't have jus'-" Liam stopped talking and combed his fingers through his hair, clearly angry and frustrated. Then he drew himself up. "Put yar hands behind yar back, Westen," he ordered coldly.

"What?!"

"I'm done talkin' wit ya. Don't have me call Sean an' Colin ta make ya."

_Shit! This wasn't how it was supposed to end._

Michael half turned, seeking a way out of what he was sure was about to be his death. He had only taken his gaze away from the eldest Glenanne for the briefest of seconds, but it was long enough for the older man to deliver a blow that stunned the dark haired spy and knocked him to his knees. He felt the cuffs go on and was then hauled back to his feet.

"Ya have ta do things tha hard way, dontcha Westen?" Liam gripped his arm tightly and gave him a harsh shake which nearly sent him to his knees again. "Now walk through thot gate o'er thar and ya see thot house down tha way? It's up ta har if tha cuffs come off, an' if ya go or stay."

Michael heart leapt at the knowledge Fiona was so close. He went to move off, but Liam caught hold of his arm again. "If she says fer ya ta leave, ya'll do it. If ya give har any grief, I have a boat waiting in tha harbor ready ta drop ya in Iraqi waters. I hear tell thar's lots o' folks out thar wanting a piece o' Michael Westen. Ya give Fiona any trouble an' thot's where ya'll end up."

He walked along the mud track, slipping and sliding and unable to balance properly because of the very tight handcuffs preventing him using his arms. What the hell was Fiona doing staying in some little farmers' cottage in the middle of nowhere?

As he got nearer to the white stone built cottage, he found his way barred by a gate with a lever he couldn't reach. He was just thinking that he would have to climb over and risk falling on his backside when a small figure dressed in a heavily padded anorak, over the top of sweat pants tucked into black wellington boots, appeared on the other side.

The gate swung open and he stepped through, trying to get a look at the figure's features which were hidden by a large deep hood.

"Fi?" he questioned while waiting for the padlock to be locked back in place.

"Michael," she replied softly, confirming his suspicions. "Come with me."

"The handcuffs? Please, Fi, it's not necessary."

"I'll decide what's necessary," she replied sharply and walked ahead of him, leaving him no choice but to follow.

Entering the farmyard, he was met by three large, angry white geese that honked and hissed noisily at him, but Fiona shooed them away. He was becoming more and more confused. This wasn't the Fiona he knew. Living in the middle of nowhere, a mud covered farmyard guarded by geese… He caught sight of a couple of skinny semi-feral farm cats watching him from under a large bush which smelt of rosemary, their yellow eyes fixed on him as an unknown in their territory.

Inside the cottage, he was hit by a wall of heat radiating from a large blazing wood fire burning in a stone hearth. Squinting, as he tried to take in all the details of the dimly lit place Fiona was calling home, he noted a small two-seater, cloth covered couch, a rocking chair and a several large wooden cabinets filling the cramped space.

Hearing a soft growl, he looked back over to the fire and saw that what he had thought was a large fur rug was in fact two shaggy coated Belgium shepherd puppies stretched out enjoying the heat.

"Fi?" He was thoroughly confused by Fiona's appearance and living conditions and was getting sick of nobody answering his questions.

"Sit down, Michael," she spoke in a cool flat tone as she took off her anorak and wellingtons, revealing for the first time a fuller figure than he was used to seeing.

"This isn't necessary, you know that. You know me."

"Yes, I know you, Michael, but -" She bit her lip and moved towards another room, opening the door. "Just sit down. I have something to show you first. Rose..."

He peered across the room as Fiona disappeared from view, her voice easily reaching him from the other room as she continued to talk.

"D'ya remember that night, after we had finished helping Spencer with his 'alien' problem, and you had finally got your new best friend, Diego Garza where you wanted him? When I made you your favorite meal and in return you informed me if I loved you, I should _damn well_ _want for you_ what you wanted for yourself?"

She was walking back towards him, holding something wrapped in a pale blue blanket. Michael gulped and shifted uneasily… _N__o, this was not possible..._ It was then he caught his first glimpse of another figure he recognized as Sean's wife, Roseanne, carrying a similar bundle, this one wrapped in pink.

"That was the night I was going to tell you I was pregnant." Fiona's words came to him, but it was as if he was hearing them from a long way away. "After that night, I tried to give you time. But first it was Strickler and then afterwards… After you had _promised_ me you were done trying to get your old job back, you turned your back on me yet again to go after Mason Gilroy and that was when I knew you would never change."

They were in front of him now, both women scowling up at him, as if waiting to pass judgement on his soul. "And in the end, I realized I wasn't going to be able to hide my condition much longer... I was sixteen weeks, Michael, sixteen weeks pregnant and you were so wrapped up in stopping another great conspiracy, you hadn't even noticed." She shook her head. "So I came home."

Michael couldn't speak. He stared at the two tiny bundles and the unfriendly faces of the two women holding them before him. Two babies, one baby was more than he ever planned for, but two?

As his tired mind tried to make sense of the bomb which had just been dropped on his head, all that kept repeating was the thought of two babies… two tiny, innocent defenseless pieces of him and Fiona...

Starved, dehydrated, beaten to hell, living under the very real threat of immediate death and now this, two babies…

His mind did the only thing it could to protect his sanity... It shut down and he fainted.


	11. 401 When Irish Eyes Are Smiling - Part 2

**Puppies, Kittens & Gun Toting Babies**

**A/N: **First of all we'd like to say a great big** thank you ** for all the wonderful reviews for the first part of this 4.01 AU and for your continuing support for this series of short stories. With the final episode of Burn Notice only days away our hearts are in our throats about how Matt Nix is all going to bring our favorite show to an end and while at least in the US Season 7 draws to a close, we hope you all continue to read Burn Notice Fan Fiction as we have a great many more stories to tell.**  
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**4.01– When Irish Eyes Are Smiling – Part 2**

_An alternate Season 4 premiere following on from 3.16 – Devil You Know_

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"I dunno why yer insistin' we hang around here, brudder. Ya know damn well she ain't gonna be throwin' ham out any time soon." Seamus Glenanne strode over to where his older brother stood leaning against the gate leading to the farmyard.

"I thought I tol' ya ta wait wit' yar boat." Liam scowled at his gunrunning sibling before turning his piercing gaze back onto the farmhouse.

"Aye, an' thot's where I wa' 'til a half hour ago. She's all fuelled up an' ready ta go fer whot it's worth... Can ya not jus' leave em alone, Liam? Me boy's ar' watchin' fram afar. 'Sides ya know damn well he'd never lay a hand ta har." He blew out a cloud of smoke and then dropped the butt of his cigarette onto the ground before using the toe of his boot to grind it into the earth.

The older man glared as Seamus calmly stared back at him, before reaching for the latch on the gate as if he was about to go through and then, with a huff of annoyance, he changed his mind.

_When Fiona had stepped off Seymour Talbot's transport plane, the last strand of his good will towards Michael McBride had snapped. He had known who McBride was for months before the American had left Fiona first time. Weeks of interrogating a piece of turncoat scum being employed by the British had revealed that Fiona Glenanne was being used as an asset by MI-6. But he hadn't breathed a word to anybody about what he had discovered. _

_Instead, he had watched from a distance as Fiona and her lover had set about ripping apart the Real IRA. For a while, he had even held out a hope of turning the spy to their side. But then others in the PIRA had started asking awkward questions and, in the end, it hadn't been up to him... But now all the old suspicions and hatreds were back. The American was CIA and a pawn of MI-6. He was untrustworthy and, by abandoning Fiona when she was pregnant with his children, he had shown he had no honor._

"Fine... Fer now," Liam growled, reluctantly turned away from the house where his sister was introducing her undeserving and hopefully soon to be ex-lover to his newborn offspring.

The two men walked back along the path to where Seamus had parked his large Mitsubishi Shogun. "Ya jus' pissed cuz he fooled ya... Tha _great _Liam Glenanne never noticed his sister wa' datin' a Yank spy." Seamus laughed and then stumbled forward as his big brother clipped him around the back of the head.

"Tha man cannae be trusted. He left her alone ta have tham babbies jus' like he left her befer an' he'll do it ag'in." Liam grumbled.

"So why'd ya let ham live in tha first place? Why even bother ta tell har we had ham? If ya really wanted ham gone, he'd be _gone_."

The oldest Glenanne nodded thoughtfully. It was true. If he had wanted to, he could have killed the American and had Seamus dump the body at sea and not one of his brothers would have said a word against him, not even Sean. And if he had gone as far as inviting a few witnesses to the execution from the PIRA executive council, it might have even helped with their present troubles. It would have certainly shut up all the doubters gossiping about Fiona's loyalty to the cause. But killing Michael McBride, or Westen, would have broken the heart of his one remaining sister and he couldn't have that.

So, now he was stuck thinking of other ways to placate certain members of the ruling council. It was an unfortunate fact that even though Thomas O'Neill had been a murdering bastard who cared more about causing bloody headlines in the newspapers than freeing Ireland from British rule, the O'Neill family still had a few powerful friends who were calling for the blood of Fiona Glenanne and her murdering boyfriend Michael McBride. Plus, he still hadn't hunted down all the men who had been waiting to bid in the auction O'Neill had set up to sell Fiona to the highest bidder.

Rubbing the bridge of his nose in an attempt to ease a growing headache, Liam stopped beside his brother's large four by four and noticed for the first time that Seamus had already sent Colin and Sean off with the panel van.

"Yar boys are keepin' watch?" He lifted up a set of binoculars and scanned the farm perimeter, easily spotting Seamus's oldest son, Patrick, sitting on the top floor of one of the barns, his long legs dangling over the edge and holding a high powered rifle in his hands.

"Aye, Pat's on duty now an' Sean is gonna stay o'er t'night wit' Rosie ta keep an eye t'ings inside."

Finally satisfied that their sister and the newest additions to the Glenanne clan were being watched over to his own high standards, Liam took his eyes off the farmhouse and climbed into the waiting vehicle.

Then, as Seamus started to manoeuver the large car back onto the narrow country lane, Liam began to speak again "Am gonna be in Dublin fer a few days an' then I've gotta attend a meetin' in Belfast. Ya be sure ta call me if he gives har any trouble."

"I'll call ya, but I don't t'ink I'll have ta." Seamus sighed and set off towards his own home less than two miles away where Liam had left his own car. "When are ya gonna tell Ma thot McBride is back?"

Liam sighed and stared out of the window with a pained look on his face. "I'll call in ta see her t'night... Ya know she'll want ta go see 'em?"

"I'll take har. Ya jus' make sure she knows not ta be packin' anythin' more than flowers and some chocolates when I pick har up. Am not gonna be buryin' a Yank spy in one o' me fields."

_()()()()()()()_

Meanwhile in the little farmhouse…

"Jayzuz, Mary 'n Joseph! Them boys sure did a number on yar fella, Fi," Rose Glenanne exclaimed as she peered down at the dark haired man sprawled across her sister in law's couch. "I tol' Sean ta behave himself, but ya know how angry he wa'?"

The babies were back in their crib and, while Fiona had freed her former lover from the handcuffs, Rose had brought over the first aid kit and a bowl filled with warm water.

"I don' think this is all Sean's work, Roseanne." Fiona declared as she cleaned away the dried blood out of Michael's hair and from his face. Gently probing the bruised skin, she winced when she discovered a broken cheekbone under his swollen left eye.

"Aye, well, I don' think it went all one way either." The blond lifted one of their patient's hands to display bruised knuckles. "Sean wa' walkin' wit' a limp when he came home tha other night, an' I heard fram Belle thot Seamus got his nose broke ag'in."

Picking up a sponge, the blond haired woman gently began to wash away the dirt and grime from Michael's swollen hands. There had been a time when she'd had high hopes that this man would be the one for her husband's only sister. She loved Fiona as if she was her own sister and wanted nothing more than to see her settled down with a husband and a brood of children of her own.

Michael McBride had, in her own opinion, been a good match, his quiet demeanour offsetting Fiona's volatile nature and of course it didn't hurt that he was tall, muscular and good looking. He was also the only man she had known who had dated Fiona without trying one way or another to use her family name for their own gain.

Of course, that had all changed when Sean had returned from his mad dash across the Atlantic to warn her about Thomas O'Neill. Her husband had arrived home still recovering from having a bullet removed from his chest to announce that Fiona was living with McBride, only he wasn't McBride, he was really an American spy called Westen. She had been proud of the way Sean had stood up for his little sister in the face of hostility from the rest of the brothers.

But then, barely a month later, Sean's steadfast approval of Fiona and her spy boyfriend's relationship had been broken when Fiona had arrived back in Dublin. Flying in on a secret flight on its way from Miami to Nigeria, obviously pregnant and very much on her own, his little sister's situation had quickly turned her husband's feelings of friendship towards his former comrade in the fight against the RIRA into burning fury.

Just then Michael's eyes fluttered open and he let out a groan, as he weakly batted away the hands poking and prodding at his battered body.

"Okay then, am gonna leave ya ta talk." Rose got to her feet. "I'll be wit' tha babbies if ya need me." She threw the now semi-conscious Michael a hard look before leaving Fiona to explain how he was now the father to two beautiful healthy babies.

"Try ta keep any shouting down an', if ya have ta start throwing stuff around, keep yar hands off tha vases; I gotcha tham flowers."

Alone in the living room with her estranged lover, Fiona sighed and watched as Michael slowly came back to his senses. As he mumbled and groaned, she went over to the fridge and brought him a bottle of Lucozade. Hopefully the sports drink would help to restore some of the fluid he had lost during his stay as a guest of her brothers.

"_I gotta call fram one o' tha custom officers I have on tha payroll up in Derry. McBride got off a Cargo ship this mornin' an' he's hitchin' a ride South. I've already made arrangements. He's being taken tha first time dey stop fer a break," Liam had informed her in a phone call two days ago._

"_Don't hurt him Liam... I mean it."_

"_I don' understand why ya dont wan' ham thrown back inta tha sea. I can make sure he disappears fer good... I have tha perfect place -"_

"_Because he is tha father of me children, Liam, and I won' have thar Uncle murder thar Da. Am not livin' some fecking Greek tragedy."_

Leaning over him, she stroked the back of her hand across his stubble covered, undamaged right cheek. "Wha' ar' ya doing here, Michael?" she murmured softly.

_It had only been when she had fully regained her senses after being kidnapped by Thomas O'Neill that she had learnt the whole story of what Michael had done for her. Shooting Tom Strickler and then planting the replica of one of O'Neill's own bombs on the Irish sociopath's boat. The news that he had blown up __O'Neill and his whole crew had brought a warm glow to her heart when she heard they were all dead. She had thought that he had finally come to his senses when he told her he was done trying to get back into the CIA. __But then Mason Gilroy, another blasted murdering bastard, had arrived in Miami and ruined it all._

"_He murdered my CIA contact and that's on me...Diego would have still been alive if I hadn't killed Strickler."_

"_Gilroy is a freelance assassin. Somebody is paying him a lot of money and I'm the only one who can stop him."_

_The excuses had continued until she had come to the conclusion that, regardless of what he said about his former bosses, Michael Westen would always find a conspiracy to chase and, if she hung around, all she would ever be was second best._

With a shallow cough, Michael opened his eyes as best he could and squinted up at her.

"Fi?" he questioned, his eyes flickering around the room and then back to study her appearance. The harsh Irish winter had caused her tan to disappear, leaving her pale, and her thin drawn features looked all wrong with her fuller figure.

Struggling, he sat up and rubbed at his wrists. She could see him trying to work things out and then, as if on cue, the demanding wail of a hungry baby filled the cottage, causing his body to jerk in surprise as his eyes widened in what she could only describe as fear.

"Sorry, Michael," she muttered distractedly, her hand going to her chest as the baby's cry caused an ache in her breasts. "I have to - if I don't - it'll wake the other one up... If you want to talk, you'll have to come wit' me."

_Things were getting better. But once one of them woke up, if he or she wasn't quietened down quickly, the other would wake and demand equal attention. Three weeks of having her life ruled over by two tiny little tyrants was wearing her down and always at the back of her mind was how much better the other women in the family were at dealing with her children. Both Rose and Isabella seemed to know in an instant what each cry or gurgle meant while she was left to struggle along by process of elimination._

She went into the bedroom to find Rose was already changing the nappy on the baby boy. "I wa' gonna bring ham out to ya," Rose spoke over her shoulder. "You get settled an' I'll bring ham o'er ta ya."

By the time the blond had finished changing the diaper, Fiona was propped up on the bed with the pillows arranged about her. For next few minutes, both women ignored the man standing in the doorway who was watching what was happening with a mixture of awe and horror.

"Okay then, I see yar help has managed ta drag himself off tha couch an' I dare say yer have nae finished yar discussion yet. So I'm gonna go an' stretch me legs fer a bit." The willowy blond walked past Michael as he stood with his mouth hanging open. "I'd shut thot if I wa' ya." She poked him under the chin. "Or yar face may set like thot." She laughed softly and gave him a light push into the room. "Don't be an idjit, man; go say hello ta yar babbies."

Fiona cradled her boy in her arms as he greedily suckled his lunch. She could see Michael in her peripheral vision, watching them with his eyes wide and his mouth still open. Eventually, she could take no more.

"Come in, Michael, and shut the door."

The other twin was stirring now and Fiona blinked rapidly several times. After three weeks with two infants, she was worn out both physically and emotionally. She couldn't remember what it was like to have a full night sleep or to have a moment to herself. During her time in Miami, she had forgotten what it was like to be constantly surrounded by family. So getting caught between demanding babies and well-meaning relatives with all their frequently contradictory advice, she was ready to fall apart.

Pushing back the tears, she nodded towards the crib, trying to control the wave of panic which was about to overwhelm her senses. This was the first time she hadn't had either Rose or her other sister in law, Isabelle, nearby during feeding times.

"Ya need ta pick har up Michael." She told the mute statue, whose fingers were turning white as they gripped the door frame. "Michael, fer christ's sake, move yar self!"

"Fi, I -" He was backing up now, stepping into the hallway, his eyes still firmly fixed on the wooden cot at the end of the bed as if the contents inside might explode at any second.

"Michael, she's _your_ daughter. She won't bite you. Pick her up and hold her!" Fiona tried using her American accent to catch his attention. She was doing her best to stay calm, when all she really wanted to do was screech at him for being such an ass.

"But -Fi, what is -?" He mumbled as he hesitantly edged his way into the room to stare down at the tiny baby girl, who stared back at him with a screwed up face and tear filled blue eyes.

"I swear, if you can't even pick up..." Fiona stopped her tirade as he gingerly lifted the baby girl up and held her close to his chest. She watched as his expression changed from mortified to being filled to something akin to adoration as he regarded the precious bundle.

"How – how old are they? What are their names?" He had a hundred questions and his eyes kept going from glancing across to her and then back to the baby girl who was mouthing at his woolen jumper in her search for a meal.

"Three weeks and their names are Sean Michael and Claire Michelle"

"How did? – How are?" He couldn't get the words out as his mind reeled at the weight of responsibility which had suddenly been dropped quite literally into his hands.

"I'm fine, Michael. They're fine. There were no problems."

_She remembered how three weeks earlier she had been laying in her bed, writhing in pain and screaming bloody murder, demanding to know how either of the two women with her could have put themselves through this more than once. In the end, after ten hours of labor, she had delivered the babies naturally with only the use of gas and air, which Liam had paid to be stolen from the nearest hospital. And then, while her mother and sister in law Isabelle had been at her side, Liam and Sean had been nervously sitting outside said hospital with their phones in their hands, waiting for a call in case they needed to bring a doctor back to their sister._

"They were born here at thirty nine weeks. Sean-boy was five pound six, an' Claire was five pounds. He was born first and she came a half hour later."

He nodded, though she wasn't sure how much he was listening to her as he studied the child in his arms. Then, the soft grizzling noise suddenly turned into a cacophony of anguished cries. The look of mild amazement he had been wearing was gone in an instant as he rushed to the bedside, thrusting the baby at her.

"Fi, I - I didn't – ."

She sighed. "Ya can't throw her at me like thot. Ya have ta help. I'm still getting tha hang o' this meself. Give har here, Michael, and sit down. Every time I look at ya, I keep thinking yar about to bolt out o' tha bloody door."

As Fiona got as comfortable as she could, Michael pulled a chair over beside the bed and sat down.

"You don't have to worry about me running. I'm pretty sure if I try to step outta that door, I'll get shot down by one of your brothers," he snipped back without thinking and instantly regretted it.

"Sorry, sorry I didn't -" He leaned over and cupped her cheek. "I came here to say I'm sorry and to tell you that you were right." He flopped back in the chair, his eyes going back to his children.

"I never…" His brow creased as if he was trying to work something out. "Why didn't you tell me? If you'd told me..."

"I did try. I tried several times, Michael. But -" She shrugged her shoulders and let her gaze drop to study the matching heads of her babies, one suckling at each of her breasts, a balancing act she was only just now learning to manage.

By her own count she had tried to tell him seven times, each occasion ruined either by her own nerves, his selfishness or by the arrival of some needy soul in dire trouble.

_She had been so grateful when the job of bringing Rick Matheson to justice was finally over and the fledging crime boss was locked away in a prison cell, believing he had been set up by the drug dealers he had been stealing from._

_All through the previous week, she had been feeling what could only be described as out of sorts. She had hidden it well, but while Michael went off to make sure Tommy D'Antonio was doing as he had promised and was on his way out of Miami, she paid a visit to a small neighborhood clinic to get a prescription for some vitamins and a course of antibiotics._

_And that was when she had got the shock of her life._

"_Congratulations Ms. Lynch, you are eight weeks pregnant."_

_That had not been the news she had expected or wanted to hear. Nevertheless, it was what it was and, after taking a side trip to the nearest shooting range for a therapeutic couple of hours of blasting holes in pieces of paper, she had called Michael. Much to her relief, before she could make the suggestion, he had invited her out on a celebratory date. Finally ridding himself of a nosey detective had definitely cheered him up._

_She had decided she would ease into the news, suggest a few easy bounty hunting jobs and then casually let slip that the extra money would come in handy as they were going to have an extra mouth to feed in approximately seven months time. _

"_Now we're in the clear, there are a few gigs I've lined up for us."_

_And he instantly cut her down, giving her all the reasons why it was so damn important that he started to work on getting back into the CIAs good graces._

"_Michael, priorities change. People change. Tommy always thought he'd be a criminal. Maybe you'll find -" He'd watched her through hooded eyes, shaking his head in denial as if nothing was more important than his plans._

_She had still been trying to come to terms with the idea of a child herself without having the worry of telling him and then having to deal with his rejection. "You're sure?" She had been barely able speak, her resolve dissolving into the ether._

"_I'm sure. I'm free of the people who burned me. I'm clear of the cops. This is the moment I've been waiting for." _

"_This is the moment I've been waiting for – too."_

_She had tried to hide how broken hearted she was, but promised herself she would tell him at the next opportunity._

"I -" Michael was shifting uncomfortably in his chair, the whole time his eyes never straying from the vision on the bed. Part of him, the cold tactical side of his brain screamed out: _T__wo babies! What the hell are you going to do now? _But another part, which until that moment he hadn't known existed, was urging him to climb on to that bed and wrap his family in his arms. _You're not your old man, you can do this. You owe her this..._

Sensing his unease, Fiona changed the subject to something she was sure he would want to talk about. "So, what happened to Gilroy?"

"He's dead... He got what he deserved in the -" The words dried up as he caught sight of her expression. Shaking his head, he began again. "It doesn't matter, he's gone. You were right. I should have left it all to the FBI... Fi, I didn't know, I'm sorry. But… _twins_?"

"Yes, Michael, twins." She sighed wearily. "Here, he's had his fill." She carefully held out their son. "Put him against yar chest and rub his back."

Following Fiona's directions, Michael began the task of burping his son.

"You named him Sean?" he asked, wondering why he only got second billing.

"Sean has had to put up with a lot because of us. He was the only one on my side right from the beginning. He was the only one that _ever_ defended _you_. I thought it was fitting." Now it was her turn to pause and purse her lips, as she tried to come up with the best way to break the rest of her news. "They're full names are Sean Michael and Claire Michelle _O'Keefe_."

"O'Keefe? That's your mother's maiden name, isn't it?"

She nodded and then, as Claire decided she too had fed enough, paused to rearrange her top. "Liam has set up false identities for us all. O'Neill may be dead and gone, but there's still all the people who were willing to pay the bastard for putting me up on the auction block. Until they've been dealt with, it's not safe for them to be Glenannes - or McBrides."

"And there'll never be a safe time for them to be Westens?" The bitterness in his words wasn't lost on her.

"No, not here... Maybe not anywhere…. You've always made a point of telling me how many people are after your blood. We're safe here. Seamus lives close by and all the other houses nearby are owned by other members of the family." She watched as he took a long gulp from the bottle of fizzy orange energy drink. Even with his head tilted back, she could see the hurt in his eyes.

"Why did you come looking for me, Michael?"

With the drink finished, he placed the empty bottle on the bedside table and leaned back in the chair so he could take his first proper look at his son. "I came to ask you to come back to Miami with me," he answered her truthfully, but his eyes were fixed on the baby boy with a head of light colored fuzz and large blue eyes who stared back at him.

"Mi -"

He looked up and smiled wistfully. "But that's impossible, right? At least for now," he finished her sentence for her.

She felt her heart soften towards him…the expression on his face and the look in his eye as he turned his attention back to the infant in his arms… She had never thought the day would come when she would see that look on the face of Michael Westen. She patted the space next to her on the bed, "Come sit beside me, Michael. Get to meet your children properly, they'll be awake for awhile."

For an hour, they sat on the bed, side by side, letting the twins kick their legs and reach out with their tiny hands. For the first time since their birth, Fiona felt truly relaxed as she let her head drop onto Michael's shoulder. _This was how it was supposed to have been..._

"Hey," he spoke softly, giving her arm a gentle squeeze. "They're asleep and you were, too."

"Sorry… you have no idea how exhausting it's been." She swung her legs off the bed and got to her feet. "Let's put them back into the cot an' then I'll get you something to eat."

He heard the dullness in her voice and, at that moment, he began to get an idea of the stress she had been living under. He still couldn't believe she had hidden the pregnancy from him, or the fact he had failed to notice the changes which must have been happening to her body. He felt a sudden shiver work its way down his spine when it suddenly hit him she must have been pregnant when she had been kidnapped, manhandled and God knows what else by O'Neill, when she had been shot and he had detonated a bomb while she had still been in the water. _Jesus, she had been pregnant when he had hit her…When Gabriel had had a gun to her head…_ All of a sudden, he felt sick with guilt.

Then that cold logical voice began to sound inside his head. _You'll never be able to keep them all safe. This is a tactical nightmare... You don't even know what your status is back home._ Swallowing, he forced his doubts to the back of his mind and instead concentrated on the woman before him.

"No, you're gonna lie down and get some rest and, while you do that, I'm gonna have a bath or a shower and then I'll _make myself_ a sandwich or something." With the twins safely in their cot, he directed Fiona back to the bed.

"Are you sure?"

"Positive." He smiled at her. "Just point me in the direction of the bathroom."

"Two doors down on the left," she yawned. "You'll find towels in the airing cupboard."

"Okay then, you rest 'til they wake up." He saw the flash of doubt in her eyes. "I promise, I'm not going anywhere."

Once he left the room, Fiona lay back and stared up at the light above the bed. Once she heard the water gushing out of the taps and into the old bathtub, she let weariness overtake her and fell asleep.

_After the first disastrous attempt to break the happy news, she had spent a lot of time thinking about what she was going to say and how she was going to say it. She had spent a whole week avoiding Michael as much as she could, which in truth hadn't been hard as he was spending virtually every waking minute stuck in a car with Sam Axe checking out aircraft tail numbers._

_Her plan had been to go out to lunch and then back to her place. But before she could say more than five words to him, he had announced he was off to the airport in search of some vital piece of information._

_The third time, she had been sure she knew what she had been doing wrong. She needed to get his attention, get him to focus on her instead of some CIA agent hiding out at Opa Locka. So she'd arrived at the loft early, planning on doing a little bit of flirting followed by some reconnecting before going out to eat._

"_Not quite as much fun as kicking a door down." She'd glided across from the door to the work bench, letting him get a good look at her outfit and the body underneath. Reaching out, she had trailed her fingers over his collection of blank keys._

"_Ready to go?" He had seemed pleased to see her stopping what he was doing and turning his whole attention in her direction._

"_To dinner? It's four thirty. I told you no more early bird specials," she'd pouted._

_He had instantly gone on the defensive and, less than five minutes later, he was heading out of the door and she still hadn't told him what had her so wound up and so dead set against chasing after the CIA._

"_We're going to have to do this eventually," she'd called out to him as he opened the door._

"_Yeah, just not right now," he had flung back at her before rushing down the steps._

_The fourth time was after Spencer Wawkowsi was safe and the big bad woman, or alien depending on who you asked, was in custody. She'd waited for him in the loft, made him one of his favorite meals and, once he was there and sitting comfortably, she had taken her courage in both hands and took her fourth run at informing he was going to be a daddy._

_She had started by asking how his day had gone, thinking that she would get the discussion about Diego Garza out of the way first and then move onto what she wanted to say. But instead she had let her mouth run away and ruined it all._

"_Talking to you is like talking to Spencer. You are both focused on one thing; it clouds everything else. It's a crazy way to live, Michael."_

_She had thought she had chosen the perfect moment, but when he began to speak she knew she had got it wrong… again._

"_You know, I am like Spencer. We both see the world a certain way and we both have skills to make it a better place. That's not a bad thing. I don't want to keep ducking this, so let me be straight with you. This job what we just did, saving American lives, this was the type of work I was made for, Fi. It's what my old job gave me a chance to do every single day, so no getting back in isn't just a way to survive, to protect the people I love, it's what I want... And if you truly care about me, you should damn well want for me what I want for myself."_

_By the fifth time, she had been close to giving up hope. She'd already started talking to her mother about coming home and had quietly begun to sell her stockpile of C4._

_And then Tom fucking Strickler had come along, a self-styled agent to the spies, a go between for spies when things went wrong or for when a government didn't want to deal directly with an asset._

_She had planned one more try, a visit to a nearby farmers market, and then back to her condo for lunch._

"_We're eating at my place, so I get to choose the topic of conversation," she had told him forcefully. But that was before they discovered a thirteen year old boy attempting to steal a gun from her bedroom cabinet._

_If she had a thing about lost little sisters, Michael most definitely had a thing about abusive fathers beating on their wife and kids. The whole time they were helping that family, there just hadn't been any time to break the news; however, watching how patient he could be with the teenager, Joey, gave her hope that things would work out in the end between them._

_It was sometime after April Luna left with her boys that she somehow lost him to Strickler. The spy-broker had managed to entice him into doing some pretty dubious things as payment for help getting back into the CIAs good graces. She became positive that if she told him while they were barely on speaking terms, he would accuse her of attempting to trap him and, in her present state, she just couldn't cope with arguing with him anymore._

_And then he had struck her, struck her hard enough to nearly take her off her feet. She'd understood it was all for their cover, to help Barry get his ledger back. But regardless of how unfair it was, all she could think of was that he had hit her and their baby. And that was when she gave up. She called home and told her mammy to expect her there in the next week._

_She had tried to talk to him one last time while she'd gone in search of her favorite weapon, her H&K with the silver slide, but it had been useless. His selfishness had set her temper alight again._

_That was until just as she was within days of running away, when Sean had turned up unexpectedly on her doorstep and what followed had given her the strength to try to make things work between them one final time…_

The bedroom was suddenly thrown back, banging against the wall, and the voices of two pre-teen girls filled the room for all of a second before being joined by the startled cries of two infants awoken from their dreams.

"Aunty Fi! Aunty, it's jus' us. We jus wanta see tha babbies."

"Whar are they? Oh, don' mind us, can we hold 'em? Pleeaasseee, Aunty Fi?"

Jerked awake, Fiona's head spun as she tried to reach the cot before the two girls dressed in jeans, boots and anoraks. The taller, skinny blonde with her waist length hair in two long plaits was twelve year old Sian, Sean and Rose's eldest, and with her was her ten year old cousin Molly, Seamus and Isabelle's sixth born child.

"Wa' ya asleep, Aunty? D'ya wan' us ta take tham fer ya? We can watch 'em." Molly announced over the loud cries of Sean and Claire.

"No, no, girls, please... Please just -"

"We can help, let us help... I help mammy all tha time," Sian shouted back, reaching into the cot to pick up Sean as Fiona attempted to soothe Claire.

"No, how did you -"

Neither girl was listening to their Aunt. Sian, ignoring Fiona completely, lifted Sean with an expertise that belied her age as Molly tried to aid the adult with Claire.

"Yer doin' it wrong, Aunty," Molly admonished. "Mammy always says ya do it like -"

"What the hell is -?!" Michael appeared at the door, dripping wet, but thankfully wearing a towel around his waist. He spotted the two girls and visibly paled. "Oh, crap!"

He retreated to the sound of girlish giggling.

"Thot wa' Uncle McBride." Sian was still grinning as she rocked the now silent little boy.

"Thot's not whot my daddy calls ham," Molly smirked. "I heard daddy say he wa' a -"

"Whot tha hell ar' ya two girls doin' in har?!" Patrick Glenanne came storming through the front door, his rifle still in one hand, his mud covered boots trailing farmyard muck over the tiled floor.

The youth appeared at the bedroom door. "Sorry, Aunty Fi, I shouted ta 'em, but they jus' ignored me. You two need ta get back ta tha house nar... Does Da know ya took tha bike out? Ya war tol ya could only ride it if one o' us were wit' ya."

"Who the hell are you?" Michael was back, now respectably covered in jeans and his undershirt.

"Patrick." The youth swung towards the older man, "Patrick Glenanne, sir, Seamus's son. Am on look out. Am sorry, I shoulda stopped tha wee ones bustin' in thot way."

"You're on lookout?" _The brothers were using their children to spy on him? _Michael reeled in his temper. He had totally forgotten about the chaos which frequently followed the members of the Glenanne family around wherever they went. "Well, do your job and take -"

"Sian and Molly," Patrick smirked as he filled in the gaps in Michael's knowledge. "Tha girls warn't har ta cause ya any trouble... Dey wa'..."

"They woke up Fiona and -"

"Claire an' Sean-boy," Patrick helpfully reminded the older man of his children's names.

Fiona took Sean from his cousin's arms and then nudged the older girl towards the door. "Thank ya, girls, but me and McBride have a lot o' things ta talk about yet. So, why don' ya both go grab a piece o' cake fram tha cupboard and we'll see ya tomorrow."

As the girls pushed past Michael, talking to themselves and giggling, Fiona followed them, handing Michael his son in the hopes of defusing any further conversation. "Pat, why don' ya take tha girls home? We don' need anybody ta watch out fer us."

"Me Da said am ta stay, it's no trouble."

"You can tell your Da -"

"Michael, it's fine," Fiona cut him off. " Leave it. Pat, go back ta yar job. Girls, ya' go straight home, ya shouldn't be out on thot motorbike without helmets on and Sian, does yar mammy know yar ridin' round tha fields in yar school shoes?"

Moments later, after the front door slammed shut and the rattling buzz of a small two stroke motorcycle engine started up and then faded away as the girls rode off across the fields. Silence once more settled over the cottage.

"It's that what it's always like?" he asked, staring at the muddy boot prints over the floor and the open cabinet doors in the kitchen.

"They mean well, Michael." She sighed wearily. "And most days either Rose or Isabelle would have been here with me."

"Okay, I get it," Michael muttered. "Look, go back to bed, I'll take, er -" he paused, staring down at the sleeping child in his arms, his mind totally blank.

"Sean..." Fiona spoke in a dangerously low tone. "Their names are Sean and Claire."

Yeah, er… Sean and Claire are already asleep. You go back to bed. I'll clean up this mess and -" He looked around wildly. "And I'll get us something to eat. How about that? Does that sound good?" Finally, he made eye contact with her, his lips parting in a toothy smile.

_He had forgotten his own children's names... But, at least he was trying to make things right. She didn't trust him not to leave, but... _She looked across to Sean cradled against his daddy's chest.

_But she had to give him a chance to make things right_.


	12. 401 When Irish Eyes Are Smiling - Part 3

**Puppies, Kittens & Gun Toting Babies**

_**A/N: **__Thank you for all the great reviews for this story! Here is the last instalment of Irish Eyes, our AU for the premiere of S4. Tomorrow (or maybe Wednesday) there will be a new chapter in our M-rated story, _Reconnecting_, which will be the epilogue to this story. Next week will be the start of our AU for the S3 premiere,_ Enemy of My Enemy.

_Because people have asked and with the Burn Notice finale now over (and what an ending it was!), we would like to let you know that we will be continuing our __**Jedi's Pal**__ stories. This series, _PK & GTB_, will be followed by a Burn Notice Prequel entitled _Be Brave Little Angel_ and then a series of one or two shot stories called _Life with Larry_, which tells of the time Michael worked with one of our favorite bad guys._

_**Jedi Skysinger**__ will be bringing _What We Leave Behind _to a conclusion soon, continuing the_ Sleeps_ stories and _Who We Leave Behind_ and resurrecting Michael's story of his time in Ireland, _Asset Management_ plus all her other stories. __**Purdy's Pal**__ will be concluding _Aiden_ in the next few weeks, continuing _Dodging Raindrops, Who We Once Were_ and all her other stories._

_There is of course also stories we will both add to Write Passions S8 community. We both hope as we continue to post, you will all continue to support our efforts._

_Last of all and on a completely different note, the names of the twins in this story were chosen because we wanted the twins older counterparts in** Jedi Skysinger's**_What We Leave Behind_ to grow up with two loving parents in at least one story._

_()()()()()()_

**4.01– When Irish Eyes Are Smiling – Part 3**

_An alternate Season 4 premiere following on from 3.16 – Devil You Know_

_()()()()()()_

After seven full days trapped on a remote farm surrounded by over half of the Glenanne clan, most of whom he concluded had no idea of the meaning of personal space, Michael Westen was ready to commit a murder.

When he had made the decision to leave Miami and to risk not only the dangers of a winter crossing of the Atlantic, but the wrath of both the CIA, who were possibly looking upon him fleeing the country as a sign of his guilt, and the Glenannes, who thanks to Sean's sense of honor now all knew he was an American spy called Westen, he had known it wasn't going be easy and he had prepared himself for rejection or even outright violence from the woman he had decided he couldn't live without.

He had even put a couple of contingency plans in place, just in case while he was trying to win her back he was unlucky enough to be picked up by MI-6 or if the CIA decided to send a tactical team to forcibly repatriate him back to the US. But nothing in his life had prepared him for the reality of his present situation, as he found himself slowly being assimilated into Fiona's family. Resistance, he was discovering, was indeed futile when it came to having to get along with the Glenanne clan.

"Daddy! Da! Will ya tell Sian ta get outta tha bathroom? I need ta go!"

Michael closed his eyes as ten year old Peter yelled at the top of his voice for his father to evict his sister from the one and only bathroom in the overcrowded farmhouse, which was presently home to a minimum of four adults and two children. The youth's voice carried easily on the frosty morning air, from the inside the house out to where Michael stood leaning against a partially collapsed stone wall that in the past had been one side of a pigsty but was now nothing more than a weed filled enclosure.

"Sian!" Sean bellowed from the kitchen where he was sitting down to a breakfast being served by his wife Rose. "Get outta thar _now_!"

The crash of doors being banged open and then slammed shut announced that Sian had surrendered the bathroom to her brother, followed by what the spy had soon gathered was one of the twelve year old's favorite phrases.

"Aunty Fi, Sean-boy is awake. Can I play wit' ham? Can I take ham out ta see tha kittens? He loves tha baby kittens."

_Why on earth would a month old baby want to see a bunch of scraggy feral kittens?_

Letting out a long drawn out sigh, he suddenly understood the appeal smoking held for Seamus... and his own parents. As the noise from the house continued in the background, he could have cheerfully lit up a smoke and let the nicotine soothe his overstretched nerves. Just the thought of that action brought back a whole raft of memories, mostly those of his parents fighting and stench of stale cigarettes which filled the family home and permeated all their clothes. But the memory which stood out most clearly was from three days ago while he had been leaning against the gate on the other side of the house from where he stood now.

"_Ya should learn ta relax, Mikey," Seamus had advised him while on one of his occasional visits to check on his older offspring who were taking turns on guard duty. "It does ya no good ta get wound up 'bout t'ings ya cannae change."_

_They had been standing watching two of Seamus's youngest, fourteen year old Milo and the young girl Molly, tearing around the field on motocross motorbikes, sending up lumps of dirt and grass from under the wheels._

"_How do you it, Shay?" he had asked. "How does it not drive you crazy? I mean - with what you do, what your family is involved in. Doesn't it scare you that somebody could -"_

_The older man had coughed and then laughed at him. "Jayzuz, yer thick, McBride."_

_He calmed down, lit up another cigarette and pointed to where his children continued to ride up and down the field. "D'ya t'ink if anybody tried ta harm a hair on one o' tham kiddies' heads, it would only be me they'd be dealin' wit'? War an army, lad. Ya cut one o' us an' we all bleed." _

_He paused for a moment, drawing in a deep lungful of nicotine before slowly letting out a cloud of smoke. "Thot includes ya. Ya know thot, dontcha? Oh, I know ya haven't been given tha seal o' approval fram tha old girls or Liam yet. But it's comin', mark me words. We've all seen ya wit' Fiona. It's obvious yer not goin' any whar an' ya came fer har an' fram whot I hear tell, ya gave up a lot ta be wit' har." _

_They had remained standing, quietly watching the siblings race and pull tricks on the motorbikes, until Seamus finished his cigarette and then the older man had slapped him on the back and stood up straight. _

"_Take me advice, Mikey, an' drop tha feckin' attitude. Ya protected har. If Liam wa' gonna kill ya, he woulda done it already. So, stop yar frettin' an' jus' accept tha fact thot yer one o' us nar." With a final chuckle, he had gone through the gate and had started to shout for Milo and Molly to get back home for tea._

The sound of the kitchen door opening drew Michael out from his reverie and he turned his head just in time to catch sight of Fiona as she stepped out of the house holding their daughter, while Sian followed close behind holding Sean in her arms. He continued to watch as they walked across the yard to what had some point been a stable block and was now just a ramshackle line of decrepit buildings.

She looked worn out, the constant noise and the demands of the babies seemed to have sucked the life out of the woman he cared so much about. She needed to be back in the sun and far away from the chaotic comings and goings of her large extended family.

He desperately wanted to take her and the twins away somewhere quiet. Somewhere…where they could be alone, so they could have a chance to repair their relationship and get used to being parents. But he had serious doubts about being allowed to go anywhere without a full surveillance team and Fiona's self-appointed bodyguards in tow. He let out a long sigh as he thought again about Seamus' words and bit down on his lower lip. _Resistance was indeed futile._

Only the day before he had been sitting in the living room, scrunched up on the two-seater couch with Seamus sitting on one side and Sean on the other, silently willing Fiona to raise her voice and tell the whole blasted lot of them to get out. That particular afternoon would always hold a special place in his mind. Packed into the tiny living space, with the wood fire blazing and filling the room with more heat than he imagined he would find in the fiery pits of hell, he found himself facing two of the elder stateswomen of the Glenanne family, who had decided to honor them with a visit and, from what soon became very clear, to pass judgement on his previous crimes.

_They had arrived in the back of Seamus' large 7-seater SUV and had been greeted as if they were visiting royalty. Maeve Glenanne, Fiona's mother, was barely an inch over five feet tall and weighed not much more than a feather and yet had been considered by MI-5 and 6 during the 1960s and '70s to be one of the most dangerous women in the IRA. Her fierce hatred of the British government and the loyalist paramilitary groups was only matched by her overwhelming love for her children and for the memory of her deceased husband._

_And accompanying the Queen of the clan had been her sister in law, the many times widowed __Claire Glenanne, the siblings dearly departed little sister's namesake and their Da's only sister in a cadre of brothers, who having lost all her husbands to the cause and having no children of her own left alive, had treated them all as her surrogate family. Her__ reputation for being as hard as nails and sharper than cut glass was richly deserved and could be confirmed by the few lucky souls who had ever been foolhardy enough to try to hurt her or one of her own and survive._

_The two women had dominated the tiny space by their mere presence. He had seen African warlords with less force of personality than these two. Yet according to Fiona, her mother and aunt were nothing compared to the formidable Fionulla Glenanne, her paternal grandmother. _ _Thinking back on it now and remembering how the visitation had gone, Michael decided as he stood outside in the early morning mist that eating a bullet might be preferable if the Dowager Queen Bee of the Glenanne clan ever decided to pay her respects to the new mother._

_They had begun by making small talk with a skill that put the CIA's best interrogators to shame. Gentle inquiries about how the young family was coping with such darling little babies were made over cups of tea served in what he now knew to have been Isabelle's best bone china. This was interspersed with mild curiosity as to what they intended to do in the future. For the most part during these discussions, he quickly realized he was expected to sit quietly unless asked a direct question._ _But eventually the two ladies seemed to reach a decision. _

_Somehow silently communicating with each other, they had turned the conversation to what had obviously been the real reason for their visit and their sharp beady eyes had focused on him._ "_Michael…" Maeve had regarded her daughter's beau with cool disdain. "Am glad ta hear yer planning on stayin' around dis time. So I take it ya have chosen a date?"_

"_A date?" he answered flatly, feigning ignorance. The talk of marriage had been high on the subject list of all the Glenannes, O'Keefes, and various other satellite family members connected to the Glenanne clan who had called around over the last week._

"_Mammy, we -" Fiona had interrupted, but had stopped instantly when Maeve had raised a hand in a sharp gesture to cease._

"_It's a straight forward question, Michael... I've already taken tha liberty an' hadda word wit' Fadder Conlon on yar behalf an' he's agreeable ta ya havin' tha weddin' at his church. O' course, ya both must attend mass fer at least a month befer tha great day, an' Michael, Fadder Conlon will be needin' ta see tha record o' yar baptism. I take it thot won't be a problem?" Her eyes had narrowed and he had detected a very slight tightening of her lips._

_He had sighed and opened his mouth to put a stop to being steam rolled into matrimony, but Fiona had stepped in to save him… or so he'd thought._

"_Mammy, it's not as easy as thot. Michael is har illegally and he's had trouble at home in America..." But under the cold unwavering gaze of her mother and aunt, she had backed down. "But Liam says he's workin' on some papers -" her voice fading away as she suddenly found something very interesting on her lap._

"_Ma, Fi and Michael have ta keep a low profile. I don' t'ink a big weddin' would be a good idea," Seamus spoke up in an effort to keep the peace. "An' ya would nae want tham ta lie ta tha priest, would ya?"_

"_Dey cannae be livin' in sin wit' two babbies," Claire state__d firmly. "Thar will be a marriage, Fiona Cairan Glenanne... An befer tha wee ones have ta be registered." She'd then turned her pale blue eyes on him and he'd seen the promise of a slow bloody death in his near future. "Tha pair o' ya have this week ta t'ink it o'er and decide how ya want ta arrange t'ings."_

_Michael had been fairly certain his input into the impending nuptials would be limited to the words 'I do.' But before he could voice any sort of opinion on the matter, that was the end of the discussion and he found himself, along with the other men present, effectively dismissed as the ladies turned their attention onto the twins sleeping habits, how much the precious little darlings had grown and how Fiona's breast feedi__ng efforts were going._

"McBride!" Sean's voice broke through Michael's reminiscing and grated on his nerves. "I need a word wit' ya. Liam jus' called and he wants ta speak wit' ya... _now_." Sean was standing directly behind him, jangling a set of car keys and obviously expecting him to be ready to leave immediately.

Michael threw his head back and looked up at the grey cloud filled sky, searching for the strength to remain calm. He was, as saying goes, sorely put out with his one-time friend. He'd hoped that Sean would have been more supportive of him. But in fact Fiona's closest sibling had taken the news of Michael's apparent abandonment of his little sister the worst of all the clan, with the possible exception of the head of the family.

_Great… _Michael sighed internally and slowly turned to face his former unwitting comrade during his previous visit to Ireland. _The old ladies yesterday had been bad enough, but now he was expected to face Liam Glenanne?_

"_Am tryin' ta get it in ta thot thick Ruskie skull o' yars thot Liam Glenanne is yar worst nightmare. He's tha most feared interrogator in tha PIRA. He gets answers an' he gets 'em quick. D'ya wan' ta know how many men have committed suicide jus' cuz they t'ought Liam wa' comin' for 'em?" The words of warning had come from his first MI-6 handler, when he had informed the man that he had been invited into the home of Maeve Glenanne to have Sunday dinner with the whole family._

"What does he want?"

"How tha hell d' I know?" Sean replied shortly. "Maybe he wants ta know if ya an' Fi have picked a date yet."

"I thought that was something you lot had already picked out for us. I mean, you're running-" Michael began hotly, only to have his words cut short by a flat hand against his shoulder, shoving him backwards.

"We're watchin' out fer our little sister," Sean growled back, bristling in anger. "Makin' sure she an' tham babbies don't get hurt -"

Michael felt his own temper rise and then the injustice of it all came crashing about him. He threw a punch which connected solidly with Sean's jaw, literally making the Irishman eat his words.

And in that instant, the fight which had been brewing for the last seven days began, as each man rained blow after blow onto his opponent. Sean's skills were honed by years of street fighting and sparring sessions with his siblings. Whereas Michael, who was still suffering some of the effects of his previous beatings, had the advantage of years of unarmed combat training, augmented by what he had picked up during his various missions around the world. Pretty soon, Michael's greater skill was winning out, as he used his feet encased in heavy boots to devastating effect. It was only when a bucket of freezing cold water hit the two men that the fight came to an end. Both men stood breathing heavily with matching bloodied noses and split lips.

"Tha pair o' ya pack it in an' get cleaned up nar!" Rose Glenanne threw the now empty bucket between them and stood with her hands on her hips. "I don' know whotcha fightin' o'er but am not havin' ya act like a pair o' wild men wit' that babbies jus' across tha way."

"Rosie, don' ya go throwin' -" His tirade came to a stop as a scrubbing brush came at his head, causing him to duck.

"Inside nar! Get cleaned up an' not another word, d'ya hear me?" She stood with the hands on her hips turning into fists and glaring at one and then the other.

As Sean trudged by him on his way into the farmhouse to get clean dry clothing, Michael caught Fiona's incredulous eyes as she stood beside Sian. If he was expecting her to be concerned for his condition, he couldn't have been more wrong. The tiny exhausted woman stared at his soaked figure and then broke into the first honest belly laugh he'd heard out of her in what seemed like ages.

Michael's ire flashed hot for just moment before he forcibly reminded himself that it was his own selfishness which had caused her to flee to her family for support and had put him in the situation he now found himself in the first place. Besides, he could hardly be mad at the first thing that had made her merry in forever, however much it had hurt him, or more accurately his pride, in the process.

Michael threw her a smile that was marred by the blood on his mouth and gestured with a nod of his head towards the kitchen door. "I don' suppose ya fancy helpin' me get changed?"

He watched as her cheeks took on a tinge of pink and she shook her head slowly. "Sian hasn't finished showin' Sean an' Claire tha kitties," she answered with a grin.

"McBride!" Roseanne interrupted their moment. "Ya have a meetin' ta get ta! Get inside nar befer ya catch yar death o' cold an' get changed."

()()()()

A half hour later, Michael and Sean were speeding along the narrow country lanes and then out on to wider roads with more traffic. As he looked out at the passing countryside and the village names which flashed by, Michael was surprised to discover what he had thought was a remote farmhouse was actually nestled in the foothills of the Wicklow Mountains, only twenty or so miles south of Dublin.

They drove into the city and parked in a small cobblestoned car park belonging to a scruffy looking dive bar on a back street close to the city center. Instead of going into the main part of the bar, Sean led the way up to the second floor using a rickety old exterior metal staircase that reminded Michael of his own home in Miami. Knocking on the fire door at the top of the stairs, they were let into the building by the remaining Glenanne sibling. It was the first time Michael had seen Colin without the Irishman having his face covered by a balaclava since the last time he had been in Ireland. The family's computer expert and technical whiz kid's bright red hair was a little thinner now and sprinkled with grey, but Michael would have known him anywhere.

"McBride." Colin greeted him coolly and then, in a far more friendly tone, turned to Sean. "Brudder, Liam wants ta see thot one on his own." He pointed along the dimly lit hallway. "Ya'll find him waiting fer ya in tha office, jus' along tha way."

Without speaking, Michael walked to the door and raised his hand to knock, before changing his mind and walking in without waiting to be asked. The head of the family was sitting at an ancient looking wooden desk resting in a high backed leather office chair.

"Michael _Westen,_" Liam growled out, kicking out the chair on the opposite side of the desk. "So ya decided ta stick around dis time. I hope yer not waiting fer me ta say welcome ta tha family."

Michael swallowed and, at least with an outward display of calm, took the offered chair. Taking his time, he got comfortable before looking into the other's icy cold, pale-colored eyes. Running his tongue over dry lips, he tried to think of what he could say to this man which would make things right between them.

"Cat got yar tongue, Westen? Ya used ta have an answer fer everyt'ing."

"Finding out you're a father changes things, Liam," Michael finally spoke.

"Aye, I guess it would... Did ya know she wa' pregnant?"

Michael shook his head. "No, I was distracted... There was a lot going on." He paused and shrugged, knowing he had no defense for not noticing his girlfriend was sixteen weeks pregnant when she left him. "We were fighting and - I don't know. I guess… I guess she got sick of waiting for me to come to my senses."

The Irishman leaned forward. "And whot about nar? D'ya have yar priorities sorted out nar?"

Michael looked directly into the older man's eyes, his expression deadly serious. "I know what I want, if that's what you mean."

"So, yer through wit' tha CIA then, wit' being a spy? Can ya do thot, man? Whot if one o' yar agency friends called ya an' offered ya a job, mebbe a way back in?"

As he listened to Liam's words, the only thing Michael could think of was that he was missing the sight, sound and even the scent of his children. He had just spent the last seven days cocooned in the company of _his_ family, of _his_ woman and _his_ babies. For the first time in his whole life, even amongst all the noise and chaos of Sean and Seamus' families, he had felt safe and needed. And the thought that the man facing him could take it all away from him in an instant scared him far more he cared to admit.

Getting to his feet, Michael slammed his palms down on the desk and leaned forward, his features just as cold and merciless as those of the man facing him. "I have _no_ friends in any of the intelligence agencies an' as fer tha fecking C.I.A, dey have t'rown me out fer tha las' time."

Liam stared back. He was good at reading people. It was a gift that had helped to turn him into one of the most feared men in Ireland. He wanted to believe the American, for his sister's sake, but he hadn't forgotten that Michael Westen was a professional liar. Slowly, he leaned back in his chair and gestured for the younger man to sit back down.

"I have a problem thot I t'ink ya could help me wit'. Well, it's yar problem too, if yer bein' sincere an' not jus' feedin' me tha crap ya think I want ta hear."

Michael nodded and sat back down. "How can I help you, Liam?"

"I've been huntin' down tha men who war lookin' ta take part in O'Neill's auction. O'er tha last coupla months, all tha bastids who wanted ta bid on me sister have been meetin' wit unfortunate accidents. Ya know tha sorta o' t'ing... Gas explosions, a drunken fall off a balcony, takin' a nasty stumble in front o' a truck..." Liam smiled grimly. "Thar's jus a coupla o' them left nar. One's tha brudder o' tha money lauderer she spread over Belfast a few years back an' tha other, tha other name which has come ta me ears… it's a bit touchy fer us, ya see, as he wa' an old family friend. But dis man, he dinnae want har dead, he wanted ta... he wa' gonna... ya get whot I'm saying, McBride?"

Michael understood all too clearly and he felt a burning rage build as his protective instincts went into overdrive. "Who?" he demanded.

"He's a powerful man, wit' his own private army; Armand Andreani tis his name. He's French aristocracy an' he supplies half tha weapons used in North Africa and tha Middle East."

Michael stared at Liam intently. Yes, a man with those sort of assets and connections would be difficult to hit, but not impossible. He had successfully done similar jobs both as a Ranger and as a spy and, if the man had set his sights on Fiona, it was most definitely necessary.

"Why Fiona?" he asked. "What's his motive? It would help to know-" While a part of Michael had loved the intimate time with his new family, there was another part of him that, after a week trapped in a house filled with small children and nothing to do, was anxious for some sort of action.

The older man barked a short laugh. It was a very disturbing sound. "Ar' ya havin' me on, then? He wa' tha man Fiona wa' wit' befer ya came along."

Michael digested this news, his heart thumping wildly in his chest. "She dated Armand?"

"_Dated?"_ Liam laughed again. "D'ya not know? D'ya not read all har Interpol files, Westen?" he tsked. "She wa' wit' ham fer four years. She wa' eventually his second, travelling tha world and livin' tha life o' royalty til she got her eyes opened in Bosnia ta whar all tha money was comin' fram."

"What do you need me to do?" _How had he missed that? Then it struck him: for some reason, somebody in MI6 or Interpol must have hidden that piece of information from him._

"Armand is gonna be in County Kildare inna coupla o' days. I know whar he's gonna be stayin' an' I know whar his fancy private jet is gonna be parked up. I'd like ta see thot plane fall inta tha sea as a fiery fireball wit' ham on board. D'ya t'ink ya can help me wit' thot?"

He knew what this was. Family friend or no, Liam Glenanne was perfectly capable of getting a bomb onto Armand's plane if that was all he wanted. The man was a stone cold killer. This was a test; he was being offered a chance to prove himself.

"Liam," Michael breathed deeply, "you should know my own..." He stopped. The CIA wasn't _his_ people any more. Twin babies and a girlfriend who was looking sicker by the day were his only concern now. "I don't know what my status is back home. There could be men on their way over here right now to hunt me down and drag me back."

"_Michael Westen, seriously? Man, oh man, it's not every day I get to interview an urban legend ..."_

_He had been sitting in a CIA interrogation room, handcuffed to a table for three hours before the tall, shaven headed counter intelligence officer had strode in and taken the seat facing him. Dropping two heavy files down onto the table, the younger man had leaned back in his chair and crossed his long legs at the ankles before folding his arms over his chest._

"_I've just spent an entire day goin' over your file... You know what? Everybody I talked to about you hadda opinion on that burn notice. There is no 'in between' when it comes to you, bro, only two camps. The people that think you were set up and the people that think we should save the taxpayers' money and just bust a cap."_

"_Really? And which camp would you be in, Agent –?"_

_The lanky CIFA agent had smiled, barring his teeth. It hadn't been a particularly friendly look. "Luckily for you, it's not up to me."_

"I'm sorry, I shoulda tol' ya." For the first time, Liam offered up a genuine smile. "I hadda a conversation wit' this guy in Miami. Fi gave me tha number fer yar friend, Sam Axe... Sean vouched fer ham... He said fer me tell ya he's been speakin' ta some guy in sommit called _seefer_? Yar accounts have all been unfrozen an' yar name is off tha travel watch lists, but yer definitely _out_ an' ya should stay away fram anything involving US interests."

Michael gasped. "You talked to Sam?"

"Aye, seems like a nice enough fella, fer an ex-Seal an' Navy Commander. His record made interesting reading... well, whot Colin could getta hold of on such short notice, anyway. Now, are ya gonna help me solve me arms dealer problem?"

Michael was stunned. He had been effectively cleared by the CIA. But it changed nothing; it just made things easier, as there was only one answer to Liam's question. He nodded affirmatively, determination in his cobalt blue eyes.

"Yes, but after we do this, I want to take Fiona off the farm and get her to somewhere of our own. We'll stay close," he added quickly before Liam could object. "I know none of you trust me to hang around. But we need our own space."

"Ya do yar part an' we'll talk about yar getting' a place nearer tha city..." Then the smile was gone and the pale eyes narrowed, "Af'er tha weddin' o' course."

()()()()

Fiona let out a long sigh and rested her head against the back of the couch. For once, the house was quiet and blessedly empty. With Sean and Michael gone, Sian and Peter in school and Roseanne having taken the twins out in their pram for some fresh air, she felt she could finally relax and take a few minutes to catch her breath.

When the first tear trickled down her cheek, she wiped it away with a hand which for some reason wouldn't stop trembling. Another tear followed the tracks of the first and then, before she could stop it, a third and fourth and then more sprang from her eyes, trailing down her face with growing speed.

Sitting up, she gasped as her heart suddenly seemed to catch and then began to beat faster and faster. Coughing and choking, she tried to stand and then a sob ripped its way out of her throat as her body convulsed and she collapsed onto her side, crying inconsolably into one of the plush cushions lying on the arm of the couch.

For weeks, she had been trying to hold back her feelings of utter uselessness. Now, in the quiet and without the worry of witnesses to her weakness, she couldn't hold back the flood any longer. She was just too damn tired... never throughout the whole pregnancy had she felt so hopeless. Both of her sisters in law were so much better at motherhood than she was and Michael's arrival hadn't helped her stress levels. She had seen the way he looked at her and then the expression on his face when her mother had mentioned marriage... _Why would he want to marry her? She was nothing like the woman she had been in Miami and he was being as good as being bullied into staying around._

"_You don't have to worry about me running. I'm pretty sure if I try to step outta that door, I'll get shot down by one of your brothers."_

As soon as he had said it, he had apologized, but the words had been eating away at her in the back of her mind. _Yes, he'd come for her, but he'd obviously been displeased by what he had found._

She had no idea how long she lie there drowning in her misery. But upon hearing the creak of the door opening, she sat up and furiously scrubbed at her face, trying to hide the signs of her breakdown as the two puppies padded into the room ahead of the pram and then Roseanne appeared.

"Aw, sweetheart, whot's tha matter?"

Fiona could barely bring herself to look at the young blond who rushed over to kneel in front of her, gently taking her hands in an effort to comfort her.

"I knew dis wa' comin'... come on, luv..." Roseanne tenderly stroked her sister in law's cheek, thumbing away a couple of tears, while urging her to stand up. "Am gonna run ya a bath an' then yer goin' ta bed wit' a nice cup o' hot chocolate."

"Wh-wh-what about tha b-b-" Fiona hiccuped as she got to her feet.

"Thar fine. Thar asleep now. C'mon then..."

She stifled another sniffle and let Sean's wife lead her out of the living room on unsteady feet. One look at her children blissfully in dreamland sent another flow of salt water to her eyes as Rose guided her into the tiny bathroom.

"Don'tcha worry, am gonna sort it all out fer ya, I promise." Rose dropped down the seat on the toilet and coaxed the older woman to sit before turning the taps on to run the bath. "Am putting in some o' yar favorite bubble bath an' I'm gonna get me best shampoo fer ya ta use. Nar, let's get ya outta yar clothes."

Feeling completely numb, she let Rose undress her and then followed the instructions to climb into the hot bath. Settling down, submerged in the bubbles, she let her head loll back over the edge of the bath.

"Am gonna make a quick phone call while am gettin' a clean nightie. I'll be right back." Leaving the door to the room open just a crack, Rose hurried into Fiona's bedroom and, while she went through the drawers in search of some nightwear, she brought out her phone and pressed the speed dial.

"Bella, I need ya ta come o'er. Can ya bring thot box o' formula o'er wit' ya an' tha rest o' tha gear?... Aye, I t'ink we've let t'ings go on as long as we can. I know she wanted ta do t'ings tha way har mammy did, but let's face it, none o' us is Maeve Glenanne."

()()()()()

"Dis is tha overhead view o' Kilrush aerodrome. It's in tha middle o' nowhere, but don't let thot fool ya." Colin Glenanne sat back in his chair and let the man leaning over his shoulder take a good long look at the small country airport where Armand Andreani was due to land in the next forty eight hours.

Michael narrowed his eyes and studied the single runway with a few hangars to one side. It looked to be in a remote location surrounded by open fields and the only road to it was long, straight with no side roads for several miles, basically a tactical nightmare.

"See tham flood lights?" Colin enlarged the picture. "Look at which way thar pointin', I bet those fields are lit up like Christmas at night an' thot fence... I did some checkin' an' it's electrified an' thar's a security patrol inside wit' dogs."

Michael pursed his lips. It looked like Liam wasn't going to get his wish. There was no way he was getting in there with a bomb and getting it on board what was probably going to be a heavily guarded plane.

"That's a lot of security for some little airport. Is that normal?" he asked.

"It's used by some o' tha richest people in racin'... Thar's twelve o' tha biggest stud farms in Eire within thirty miles and thot's not including all tha fancy hotels and houses around tha area. Unless ya've been keeping quiet about some super spy skills we know nuttin' about, ya ain't getting' inta thot place wit' out some big fancy distraction."

This wasn't what he wanted to hear. Liam had made it very clear he desired a big bang and preferable with a fireball descending into the sea, but that was unlikely now. He watched as Colin pressed a few keys and brought up a photograph of a large Georgian manor house and next to it the blue print for the house and its grounds.

"Dis is tha Antoinette farm. Tis a four hundred acre thoroughbred stud an' training center. Armand bought tha place back in '92 when he first started doin' business o'er har... It's got eighteen bedrooms an' twenty bathrooms, a ballroom, an indoor swimming pool an' gym. He employs a permanent staff o' eight at tha house an' tha rest o' tha staff travel wit' ham whar ever he goes. Ya'll never hit ham thar. He has state o' tha art security an' a whole team o' bodyguards. Fiona used ta complain about 'em followin' har around all tha time."

Up until the last two sentences, Michael had been studying the blue print carefully. But then he turned all his attention to the smirking redhead who was staring back at him.

"Fiona lived there?"

"Aye, when she wa' in tha country, which warn't often. She travelled tha world twice over wit' ham. He doted on har like yar wouldnae believe an' our mam loved ham. She wa' proper heartbroken when Fi left ham."

"Why – why did she leave him?" Michael couldn't help but asking.

"She never said. She came home an' wa' a right bitch ta everybody, especially Claire, God rest har. Ya couldnae speak ta Fi wit'out getting' yar head bitten off. She worked wit' Seamus fer a while an' then she talked Liam inta lettin' har join Sean on PIRA business."

Michael glanced back at the blue prints of the house and gardens and his eyes zeroed in on a small walled garden marked '_Fiona's Garden.' _He read the name attached and scowled.

"Ha, I wondered if ya'd notice thot." Colin grinned, but almost immediately he shrank back in his chair as Michael leaned in closer, his lips nothing but a thin line and his eyes narrowed to slits.

"Yer a clever man, Colin Glenanne, an' me guess is ya know exactly why Fiona left Armand." The American accent was gone, replaced by the low dangerous lilt of an angry Irishman as Michael growled into the redhead's ear. "Cuz if ya didnae t'ink ta snoop yarself, am pretty sure Liam told ya ta do it."

"Ah, well, ya may have a point thar." Colin shifted and used his elbows to make his future brother in law back off. "Jus' befer she came home, Armand sent har out ta Bosnia ta make a delivery..."

Michael closed his eyes, his own memories of that particular hell hole filling his mind. His four months amongst so much death and depravity had very nearly driven him insane.

"She saw some - _stuff_ tha shook har up an' as soon as she could, she ran away an' came home whar she wa' safe. I wa' livin' wit' me mam at thot time an' Fi, she dinnae know it, but I used ta hear har screaming an' sobbin' in har sleep. I'd be guessin' tha place opened har eyes ta whar all his money wa' comin' fram an' har conscience couldn't take it no more." Colin risked turning round in his chair as Michael suddenly moved away to stare out of the window.

_She ran away from Armand, left behind a world of glamour and riches, because she couldn't live with a man with no conscience._

Michael bit down, his bottom lip disappearing inside his teeth as he remembered the look on her face when he went to work with Strickler. He had driven her away trying to get a job back he now realized he didn't even want.

Turning back, he spun Colin's chair round until the computer geek was back facing the monitor. "Show me tha aerodrome ag'in... I wanta see thot access road."

()()()()

In the middle of the night, in pitch black of the Irish countryside, he had opened the back door of the slow moving car and rolled out onto the cold hard surface of a deserted country lane, narrowly missing ending up under the wheels of the old Series 2 Land Rover as it continued on its way. Gasping as he tried to control the pain radiating from his still healing cracked ribs, his back and then his side hitting the hard ground, Michael hurriedly got back onto to his feet as the car tail lights became tiny dots in the distance.

Ducking down low, he ran to where two bags had landed on the soft grass verge ahead of him and, after taking a quick look around, he dove over the stone wall on the left hand side of the road and settled down for what was going to be an uncomfortable thirty six hours.

Once he had found a suitable spot to hideout, Michael picked up the small folding shovel which had been in the back pack and went back over the wall and onto the road. By the time the sky began to lighten, he was safely hidden under a large sheet of old tarpaulin, which from a distance would appear to be part of the stones and rocks which lay close to the wall.

He stayed hidden all day, listening to the occasional car or truck which came past. He knew from what Liam had told him that just before Armand was due to arrive, he would hear motorcycles on the lane as the arms dealers security detail made sure the road was clear.

Lying there, keeping as still as possible, gave him a lot of time to think and, however much he tried to stop himself, all he could think about was Fiona and the two babies that he had left behind in a farmhouse over a fifty miles away. He knew he had been acting like an ass, but he had arrived in Ireland with the sole purpose of talking Fiona into returning with him to Miami and the one thing her family seemed dead set upon was giving them as little time alone as possible. It was beyond his understanding. It wasn't like they were kids, though it certainly felt like they were being treated like a pair of teenagers.

"_Take me advice, Mikey, drop tha feckin' attitude. Ya protected har. If Liam wa' gonna kill ya, he woulda done it already. So stop ya frettin' an' jus' accept tha fact thot yer one o' us nar."_

They were adults. They had been together on and off for years. It had nothing to do with the rest of Fiona's family what they saw fit to do. He had given up everything to come and find her. He hadn't even thought about what the consequences would be when he had shot Tom Strickler and afterwards he hadn't really cared. So, why did they think he should care about their opinion of him?

"_Dey cannae be livin' in sin wit' two babbies... __Thar will be a marriage, Fiona Cairan Glenanne... An befer tha wee ones have ta be registered...Tha pair o' ya have this week ta t'ink it o'er and decide how ya want ta arrange t'ings."_

He paused, suddenly wondering what his objection was to marrying Fiona Glenanne. He didn't want to be with anybody else. He had to admit he was missing the twins. He hadn't been allowed to sleep in the room with their mother, but he had been going in early in the morning and holding them, laying them side by side on the bed and watching them for hours, or at least until Sian, Molly or one of the others came in to take them away.

He rested his head on his arms and tried to think what married life might be like. Seamus made it sound so easy and watching the two married Glenanne men with their families had showed him it could be done. Certainly not so back in Miami, where he was good as a sitting duck. But here, in Ireland, where he had an army at his back, it seemed as though it might be possible.

"_D'ya t'ink if anybody tried ta harm a hair on one o' tham kiddies' heads, it would only be me they'd be dealin' wit'? War an army, lad. Ya cut one o' us an' we all bleed. Thot includes ya, ya know thot, dontcha?" _

With Seamus' words echoing in his head and thoughts of starting a new life in Ireland swirling in his mind, Michael didn't hear the roar of the descending jet plane until it was over the top of him. Moments later came the deep rumble of a half dozen motorcycles, cruising slowly along the lane and making a final check for anybody lying in wait.

As soon as it was clear and the surrounding countryside returned to silence, Michael began to move. Pulling out his radio, he switched it on.

"Ya better be ready, Liam. I'm gonna be coming out hot."

"_Remember whot I told ya, McBride. Don't feck dis up, we won't get a second chance."_

"Jus' be ready." Michael switched the radio off and slowly drew back the tarpaulin and crept along the stone wall, ducking as five motorcycles came roaring back along the lane.

"_It's a long straight road. Ya kin see all tha way along it... Thar's no way ya kin set up an ambush," Colin had scoffed at his plan._

As soon as the bikes sped past, he got to his feet, raised the rifle, sighted and squeezed the trigger, all in one smooth motion. The rider in the middle of the group slumped forward and then the bike crashed over onto its side before flipping over and over and taking out all the other bikes in its path.

As soon as he had pulled the trigger, Michael had dropped the gun and picked up the remote trigger switch he had laid on the wall. Pressing down on the button, he blew a large hole in the road, blocking the way for the two large SUVs which were descending on his position.

Without pausing, Michael sent two smoke grenades towards the vehicles and then took off running as fast as he could before the smoke cleared and he became a target. Reaching the scene of the motorcycle crash, he saw Liam Glenanne standing over one of the bodies with a revolver in his hand.

"Ya did good, McBride. Ya got ham dead center an' he snapped his neck comin' off."

The figure on the ground had had his crash helmet removed to reveal the swarthy features and long dark hair of Armand Andreani.

"_Armand likes speed and danger. He'll be riding amongst the outriders, most likely in tha middle o' tha group. But if ya kin hit tha one in tha middle, it should bring tha rest down and I'll clean up if ya don't get ham."_

They got into the waiting car and drove off, reaching the main road into Kildare as the first police car flashed by racing to the scene of carnage. Sean kept the vehicle to a steady speed into Kildare where they transferred to another car, leaving the first vehicle a flame.

"Ya left tha rifle?" Liam asked.

"Yeah, but you never said why." Michael rested back, feeling weary after a full thirty six hours lying out in the open.

"It's connected ta a robbery done in Donegal. It'll lead tha Garda ta a man I'd like ta see inna a prison cell." Liam twisted around in the passenger seat so he could look Michael in the eye. "Thot gun will trace back ta tha brudder o' tha money launderer Fiona blew ta pieces. Tha slippery weasel knows I want ta have a word wit' ham. But once he's locked up, thars a whole load of fellas inside who'll only be all too happy ta have a word wit' him fer me... Fiona's in tha clear."

Michael smiled back and then with a groan sat forward. "In light of the mess we've left behind us, I think it's about time I get myself in the clear. Before somebody puts two and two together."

Liam frowned and Sean glanced back at him. Both men were unhappy about what he said he had to do. "Ya want me ta come wit' ya, McBride?" Liam asked.

"No, this is going to require a delicate touch if I'm to walk away."

"I kin do delicate. I wa' trainin' ta be a surgeon," Liam replied, his expression completely serious.

"I think it's better if I go in alone," Michael repeated firmly, trying to sound more confident than he felt. Once he'd completed this one last mission, he would be turning his back on his old life forever.

()()()

Michael had been surprised to find that, when he asked Colin Glenanne to furnish him with a list of MI-6 officers that were known to the PIRA, the name of the man who had been his second handler during his Irish assignment had come up. Richard Chambers was now Sir Richard Chambers OBE and was no longer an intelligence officer, but was now employed in the diplomatic corps as a liaison between the Northern Ireland office of the UK government and Irish government.

He had also been pleased to see Sir Richard was living in Dublin and, thanks to Colin's ability to work his way around Home Office firewalls, he had discovered the man worked late most evenings and travelled home in a chauffeur driven car.

It had been easy for Michael to ambush and knock out the driver of Chamber's BMW series 7 sedan and then, once dressed in the man's uniform, he had waited for the phone call to pick up Sir Richard.

Just as he had suspected, his former MI-6 handler failed to recognize him, even when they had been close up as he held open the door for the diplomatic officer to step into the vehicle. Once on the road, Michael locked all the doors and drove out of the city. It was only when they missed the turn for Chamber's country residence that he finally took any notice of the man behind the wheel.

Michael felt the tap on his shoulder.

"Is there a problem? You've missed the turning."

Slowing the car down, Michael pulled over to the side of the road and twisted around the seat. Smiling grimly, he pointed the barrel of a SIG Sauer Liam had given him at the British agent and with his free hand removed the chauffeur's cap from his head.

"D'ya recognize me, Chamber's? D'ya know who I am?"

Chamber's piggy little eyes narrowed and his skin paled as, when he looked closer, recognition came to his eyes and his skin then flushed in anger.

"You! What are you doing here?" He fumbled to pull his cell phone out of his jacket pocket, which Michael easily snatched from his hand before he could call for help.

"We're gonna have a wee talk, thot's all. D'ya understand me, _Dickie?_"

"Are you on assignment? Nothing has come -"

"No, am no longer employed by any agency."

Realization dawned and a look of disgust clouded the man's features. "I was right about you. All those years ago, I said you'd go native."

Michael sucked in a breath; that was _exactly_ what he was doing, changing sides. Then he thought of those two babies and the woman he loved and he didn't care what a man like Richard Chambers thought of him. He didn't care what anyone in any intelligence office thought of him. They had chewed him up and spit him out after all he had done for them.

"Aye, well, thot's as may be. I jus' wanta make one t'ing clear ta ya... Me name is Michael McBride, an' tha first time I hear tha hint o' some Brit or one o' yar loyalist friends say any different, I'll have a nice little tale ta tell how I passed along a warning t'ya thot tha Real IRA wa' planning a big bombing in Omagh an' you dismissed me intel an' all tham innocent men women and children died cuz ya didn't want ta take tha word o' me asset."

"You have no proof of that!" The MI-6 officer snapped, his face suffused with fury. "You think you can blackmail me?!"

Michael barred his teeth in a smile which told his former handler that it was exactly what he thought. Omagh was a big thorny issue in British intelligence circles; it was one of those events which could easily destroy years of careful negotiation. There were plenty of conspiracy theories about how much the British knew before the car bomb went off, killing twenty nine people and injuring over two hundred more.

"Oh, I _know_ I can," Michael replied with his own American accent. "I have the evidence locked away. It's safe, unless I die, and then of course it would be up to whomever I have given the key to access my private files." He clicked off the safety and curled his finger around the trigger of the handgun. "An' if I should survive any attempt on me life, ya better be prepared ta run an' hide deep cuz I'd make it me life's work ta rain hell down on all of ya."

Michael watched as the other man slumped back in defeat. "So, that's it? You just want me to keep quiet?"

"I want ya ta destroy every file thot mentions Michael Westen or Michael McBride... An' I want ta be_ left in peace_."

"If you commit _any_ crime, _any_ act of terrorism, I cannot be -"

"Ya let me worry about thot. Jus' make sure nobody ever mentions Westen an' McBride in tha same sentence ever again."

Chambers pursed his lips and nodded his head. It was clear to him the former CIA agent had completely lost all sense of right and wrong. He had of course heard the rumors of a burn notice. Now it made all sense.

"Fine… As far as the government of the United Kingdom and Northern Ireland is concerned, Michael Westen was never here... Now, get out of my car."

()()()()()()()

It had been a short run to where Michael had concealed a motorbike, helmet and riding gear up the road. He'd taken the BMW keys and thrown them as far as he could back down the road away from the car and he'd kept Chambers cell phone long enough crush it under his boot heel and fling it into the surrounding woods. The old bastard could get out and walk a bit.

The drive back to where Sean was waiting for him with a panel truck, the wind whistling past him in the night air, had been exhilarating. Despite the fact that he was headed back towards Fiona's overbearing family, he feel free... truly free in a way he hadn't in years. Michael had enjoyed the latitude he was given as an operative, but there had always been someone giving him orders, reports to file, objectives to fulfil... all decided by someone else and he was only as good as his last mission.

As he flew down the road, back to the arms of the woman he loved... _yes, he loved her_, the former spy realized in heady rush, and he was _free to love her_, in a way he had only dreamed about when he had first met her. He had an army of Irish allies that would have words with anyone who tried to say otherwise and, as he pulled the bike next to his former colleague against the RIRA and future brother in law, he realized that he was happy to be able to say that, too.

He had always fought against being connected to anyone outside of his professional life, finding family and relationships to be a huge liability. But for the first time in his life, Michael thought with a smile as visions of his soon to be wife and his children danced in his head, those things had become assets, the most important assets ever.

_Now he could do what he had wished he could do a decade ago..._

_And just be Michael McBride._

_()()()()()()()_

_A/N: Much love to all the Burners out there who are pining the end to new episodes, We are right there with you. Authors keep Writing, Readers keep Reviewing. Let's keep this fandom alive and kicking ass._


	13. 301 Enemy of My Enemy

**A/N: **_This __next chapter of _**Puppies, Kittens & Gun Toting Babies**_ re-boots the 3.01 premiere and changes up the storyline from the end of Hot Spot (2.11). Again we apologize for the delay. There is a new chapter of _**Bed Time Stories** for Hot Spot _on the M-page, which continues on after Michael finds Fiona at the loft following the house fire at Poole's place, that can be read as a prequel to this chapter. For everyone who asked for a bit less action and little more romance with our fav couple, this is for you! _

_There will be a __**new chapter of**__**True Believer**__, our collaboration with our dear friend, Amanda Hawthorn that follows the events of the 7.13 finale _Reckoning,_ which will be __**posted on Thursday**__._

_As always, thank you for everyone who has read, reviewed and PM'd. We appreciate your support very much and are grateful for it and humbled by it. Burn Notice will continue to live on here on !_

_Don't forget BNClub will be watching S1E2 _Identity_ at 9 PM EDT 9/26 & live tweeting! Join us if you can!_

_()()()()()()_

**3.01 – The Enemy of My Enemy**

_An alternate S3 premiere following on from 2.11 – Hot Spot_

_()()()()()()_

She'd been aware enough to know he'd said something to her and far too comfortable to do anything more than hum an affirmative, though she had no idea what she'd just agreed to, and go back to sleep.

She was a notorious light sleeper and, after being awakened repeatedly last night, she was actually tired and happy to have the bed to herself for a moment to snuggle down and get some real rest. He was puttering around the kitchen area in his pajama bottoms when she closed her eyes and let herself go.

She hadn't shared a bed with Michael regularly since Dublin and sleeping with him in the more literal meaning of the phrase was something she couldn't adjust to immediately. Sure, she had slept with him in the colloquial sense since she'd been in Miami, but that had been sadly few and far between enough that there had been only one occasion that had ended up with them back to back like in their Belfast days and a pistol under each pillow… until Jason Bly had interrupted their not so comfortable slumber.

So when she'd woken up to the sound of an unfamiliar car engine and, worse yet, that oh so particular sound machine pistols make when they're being made ready, Fiona had grabbed the pajama top laying conveniently on the ugly green chair next to the bed and thrown it on as she rushed to the window.

But instead of an annoying CSS agent, Michael's new handler and a couple of her heavily armed minions had made their way out of the long, black stretch limo that was now backing out of the parking area below the loft. After dispatching her security force in opposite directions, Carla began to ascend the metal stairs.

Ms Glenanne took a moment too long trying to decide between picking a hiding place and simply blowing Carla's head off the minute she walked through the door. She spent another minute too long trying to decide on a hiding place such that she'd left herself no time to retrieve anything but her handbag as she fled up the staircase, onto the upper railing and out through the skylight, setting the covering back in place not a second too soon as she heard the heavy door squeaking all the way up there.

She did a quick perimeter check of the grounds from atop the roof and located Carla's body guards on the opposite corners of the building. Fiona debated going over the far corner and down the escape ladder she had thoughtfully provided for Michael's use. She really _was _better at tactical analysis than he was…

He might have been bred to it, with all his military and spy craft training, but she was _born to it._

But knowing what she did about the people who had burned Mr Westen, Carla was probably just here to deliver a message wrapped in a few not so subtle threats and then she'd be on her way. The unknown was where the hell Michael had gone and how long it would take him to get back. While the Irishwoman had zero desire to climb down the side of the decrepit warehouse and the surrounding environs barefoot, wearing just his PJ top and frown, she had even less desire to spend hours up on the roof waiting for the ex-spy to put in an appearance, though she highly doubted Ms. Thing would wait that long either.

She reached for her cell phone to call him when she remembered how this had all happened in the first place. _Dammit! _Her frustration with the situation mounted as she realized that, while she could probably make the shot and kill the one lookout, the gunfire might draw the other into a position where she wouldn't be able to get a clean shot and they had far more bullets than she had. She ground her teeth as Michael's voice and, worse yet, the voice of Sam Axe echoed in her head counseling patience and observation.

She moved back to the skylight in time to discern that Carla was headed for the bathroom, whether to avail herself of the facilities or just be a nosy bitch, it didn't matter. She was going to find Fiona's formerly wet shirt hanging on the shower curtain rod alongside with Michael's T-shirt, their jeans laid side by side on the rim of the tub and the mere thought of _where her thong was_…. Fiona locked her teeth together and breathed out through her nostrils harshly to keep from capping Carla and consequences be damned.

_Tis abou' time someone taught these bastids who thar fecking with!_

Her intended target came back into view immediately below the skylight opening at the foot of the interior staircase and pulled out the cell phone she had apparently had concealed under her flowing top.

"Stay alert," the blonde ordered. "Fiona Glenanne could show up at any time or they could be together."

Momentarily mollified that her reputation had been properly respected, the lithe woman crouched low and eased the skylight open a bit more so she could hear better what was going on inside.

"Are you positive she's not with him?"

The roar of the Charger's engine confirmed what Carla had just unwittingly told her: Michael had returned.

Fiona debated another moment if she should try to warn Mr Westen of what awaited him inside, but decided that the tactical advantage of not potentially revealing her position outweighed any benefit of tipping him off. He'd find out soon enough that his handler was there and what the hell _she_ wanted.

_Fiona_ wanted Michael to appreciate the full outrage that Carla had committed by letting herself in.

She peered through the thick, dirty glass and she could see by the set of the woman's shoulders and general body language that Michael was not telling her what she wanted to hear. Their voices were too low for the former guerilla to tell what they were saying exactly, but her lip reading was pretty good, as was her ability to read her former lover.

That thought stopped her… _former_ lover… that was what he had been yesterday, but that was _not _what it had felt like last night… or again early this morning when their resting close together, as it was not actually sleeping for her, had sparked some friction between his manhood and her backside that resulted in them doing more than spooning as they had laid side by side, his hands attending those parts that weren't pressed up against his body. She shook her head forcefully, dislodging the distraction.

As she looked on from the roof to the room below, she saw the blonde turn and sweep out of the loft, frustration and anger clear on her face. _Good!_ That would teach his handler not to show up where she was unwanted and unwelcome. It was a habit that might prove fatal for Carla if Fiona had anything to say.

()()()()()()()()

"Give me the list, Michael. It's time you focused on helping yourself or you're not going to be around to help anybody else."

Michael stared at her retreating back. That Carla had bosses, he knew. That Carla was afraid of them, he had guessed, and she had now confirmed his suspicions. But there was a woman more important on his mind, the woman he'd left sleeping in his bed, the woman he'd gone out and got breakfast for.

As the woman he wasn't interested in closed the loft door behind her, Mr Westen pulled out his cell phone, as his eyes drifted to the empty bed and the empty chair beside it, and dialed her number.

"_This is Fi, leave a message."_

_Of course_… what had made him think she would have replaced that cell phone already?

So where was she? Had Carla done something to her? Or had she decided that last night was a mistake?

Before Michael could go too far down the path of paranoia, a loud noise directed his attention upwards.

"Give us hand, will ya?" Fiona called down through the open skylight.

He couldn't help the smile that spread over his face at the sight of her: not dead, not gone, not hurt or in trouble and wearing the top to the pajama set his mother had gotten him for Christmas. He had hoped when he'd laid it on the chair after slipping into the bottom half of the set that she might be persuaded to make use of the top.

Michael put down the cell and jogged up the stairs just in time to position himself next to couch, enjoying the view as it were, when she swung her legs one at a time over the edge of the corroded metal that made up the framework for the skylight. Another forceful reminder of what he'd been missing….

Fiona flashed him once more as she hung by her hands momentarily, sending a shiver of desire through him, before dropping towards the sofa and landing in his lap as her momentum knocked them both down.

"I'm warning you, Michael, the next time someone breaks in while I'm sleeping here, I'm going to just shoot first and bury the evidence later!" she declared, sitting up and attempting to untangle their limbs.

He grinned back at her, "Maybe I'll let you… next time you're sleeping here."

She blinked at him as he let the statement hang in the air between them before he dropped his head slightly to kiss her on the forehead tenderly and give her a gentle squeeze of a hug.

"Did you hit your head when I fell on you?"

He shook his head and chuckled lightly. "Come on," he urged. "Your breakfast is getting cold."

"You brought me breakfast?" She blinked again and shinnied off his lap, giving him another view of what she was not wearing underneath the pajama top.

"I wanted to surprise you…" Michael said mildly, pushing himself off the couch, meeting her wide eyed stare with a subtle smile.

There was another pregnant pause as they gazed at one another, each trying to read the others' mind while thoughts of him pinning her to the couch and adding another memory, was apparently in both their heads, Then the petite woman turned and began to descend the interior metal stairs.

"I'm surprised," she agreed as she walked past the rumpled bed with a shiver of her own running down her spine toward the bar where the enticing scent of something good made her stomach rumble low.

Their _'morning after'_ meals had been a thing of the past ever since he'd been forcibly resettled in South Florida, primarily because they weren't together anymore. But even during that brief period they _had been_ _reconnecting_ right before he ran off to face down Philip Cowan, he hadn't cooked for her unless he wanted something; Michael was so cash poor so often since coming to Miami that she often paid the tab.

"Spanish omelet?" she guessed as she liberated the Styrofoam carton from the plastic takeout bag.

"Egg white only," he confirmed and the look on his face said he remembered all those morning after breakfasts back in Dublin as well as she did, where breakfast in bed had led to more time spent there.

They had come together a number of times over the years since he'd left her Dublin; sometimes it had ended quite badly and other times glorious, but they always parted again, The only reason he'd brought her this, her favorite breakfast, after their first night together in Miami- after he'd blown her off and then followed her to Benny's Place to apologize, that is- was because he had thought she wouldn't be staying at the time. He'd been quite surprised to find her waiting for him at the loft, Sam Axe even more so…

"Hmmmm," she purred as she sipped the tea in the cardboard cup. The food looked as wonderful as it smelled and the drink was Irish Breakfast blend, a recent favorite in the US. She couldn't help but answer his smile as she noticed he was eating a whole egg version of her omelet instead of a cup of yogurt.

It made Fiona want to demand to know who _he was_ and what had he done with Michael Westen.

"Nice color on you," he remarked with a smirk. "I thought maybe you could get a little use out of it."

The top was a garish shade of green that Michael would not have worn on pain of death, but he had succeeded changing the color of the bottoms enough through repeated washing with his "stealth suits," as Fiona liked to call the military issue clothing he used for night operations, that they were acceptable.

"I was wondering how Carla knew you'd spent the night. I'm guessing you didn't give her a guided tour."

"She was making herself at home… even used the bathroom apparently…" Fiona informed him between bites. "Seriously, Michael, I don't know why you don't just shoot her and be done with it."

"Well, for one, I'm even less enthusiastic about her potential replacement," he replied after taking a long sip of his drink. "And I really don't want to give them the idea that _just shooting_ is a good problem sol –"

"It's always worked well for me," she interrupted him. "Having a reputation can be very useful."

"It hasn't worked out so well for me lately," the ex-spy countered quietly and then became very interested in sectioning his eggs into precise little squares. Finally, as blue eyes met blue green ones, he seemed to be struggling with a decision. It was so unlike Michael, it made her observe him even more carefully.

"You know, Fi, if… ah…if you want to talk about what happened the last night…"

_Well, thot wa' tha last thing I expected ta hear._ The Irishwoman watched him warily before answering.

"Are you sure _you _want to talk about what happened last night?"

He reached out towards the fingers that were not holding her fork, his larger hand covering hers completely. His touch felt like fire to Fiona and irony was not lost on her. "What's wrong, Michael?"

"I- I thought I lost you.."

"I came back," she replied, echoing their conversation from months ago when she had let him know that she wasn't going to be second best in his life anymore. They would work together, but they couldn't be together anymore. She had tired of having him hurt her heart and soul, but being with someone else had been met with limited success for reasons that mostly had to do with the man seated across from her.

"Yes, yes you did." His head dropped and his lips disappeared as he chewed on them for a moment while he composed himself. Then he spoke slowly, staring at his food and refusing to meet her gaze.

"I just wanted to say I …shouldn't have dismissed your… concerns the way I did that day, I'm sorry."

When he finally looked up at her, that expression on his face that said _everything is okay regardless of the circumstances _was firmly back in place again.

Fiona for her part was staring and speechless. She finally licked her suddenly dry lips and reached for her tea cup. "Thank you for saying so, Michael."

He smiled and nodded, apparently considering the matter closed. "Shall we go look for our bomber?"

"You promised me that he was going to suffer…" She gave him that mischievous grin that usually meant trouble for him and everyone involved.

"Not too much, Fi. I need to know what this guy knows."

She huffed, annoyed now. "You know, Michael, if we looked for everyone who tried to kill you, we'd do nothing else. You're working for the people that burned you, for heaven's sake, for the people that show up unannounced, rummage through your home and meddle in your private—"

She stopped herself with no small amount of effort and then let out a long sigh. Yes, it reminded her all too much of the liberties the British Army had taken during her childhood. She decided she should be more sympathetic to his plight. He hadn't asked for this either.

"Well, if there's anyone who can track down a bomber, it's our old friend Seymour," she suggested.

"Hope he's still not mad about the face full of gun powder from the last time we dropped by."

"Well…" she drew the word out to several long syllables."He _was _pretty enchanted with you once upon a time." She stood up, having finished her food, and deposited the carton into the waste bin under the sink. Fiona paused a moment and ran her hand over the top of the cabinet door, remembering helping him replace them _after he had almost gotten garroted… when he had gotten her a Soviet pistol …_

"Pretty enchanted with me? " Michael continued, oblivious to her reverie as she was standing behind him at the moment, "Yea, he showed it when he attacked me with a baseball bat."

_When she had seduced him on the floor where she was standing right now…. _Fiona forcibly refocused.

"Well, if we're going back to Seymour's, I need to change and then go home so I can change again," she announced. The petite woman wrapped her arms around his waist from behind and hugged him tightly, laying a kiss on the back of his neck. "Thank you for breakfast…."

"You're welcome." He stood up as she released him and stepped back, but Michael invaded her personal space again almost immediately and raised one calloused hand to cup her cheek.

"We should get you a new cell phone while we're out."

He leaned in slowly, clearly telegraphing his intentions, waiting for her to object. _She_ had told _him_ it was over, _she _had tried to move on with life, although he had made it abundantly clear that he agreed to it.

Their lips met and he kept the kiss light but sweet before pulling back to kiss her on the forehead again.

"You get changed," he told her. "I'll go bring your car up front. You left it in the usual place, right?"

Fiona nodded numbly as the dark haired man smiled brightly and fished the keys to the Saab out of her purse and then disappeared out the door.

()()()()()()()()()()

There was a weird energy every time he and Fiona were in the same room. That's what Sam had called it. They had all noticed, but Mr Axe was the one who was truly made uncomfortable by it. As they were driving away from Seymour's house, and the unfortunate Mr. Poole who would shortly be on his way to Suriname, that same charged atmosphere was filling the Charger and Michael was grateful to be driving.

Seymour had not only noticed it, but he had commented on it…frequently.

Michael was truly grateful they hadn't seen much of his mother while working on this current case. No doubt Madeline Westen's maternal radar would have gone into overdrive and that was something he just couldn't cope with right now. He was having enough trouble dealing Sam, Seymour and…Fiona.

He glanced over at the petite woman who'd dominated his dreams for over a decade, as she sat in the passenger seat, turning over the throwing dagger Seymour had made for them and repeated running her thumb over the engraved symbol on the handle that was supposed to mean _'destiny.'_

As a young man, Michael had considered being an Army Ranger his destiny and pursued it with relentless drive. As a spy, he had been successful in avoiding what Larry Sizemore had considered to be his destiny, albeit with some help. Destinies could be pursued or cheated, depending on whether it was good or bad. He'd accomplished what he'd set out to do, he'd overcome what Larry had tried to do. Michael had been pretty confident he could handle whatever destiny sent in his chosen life as a spy.

Until Fiona Glenanne had shattered all the barriers between personal and professional relationships, that is. He'd told her over and over by his words and his actions that there was no future for them together and yet here she was by his side, helping him against her often expressed better judgment.

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye now, wondering why she stuck by him like she did.

She had arranged for Seymour's help. She had gotten him the gig that was going to pay for the cash that he needed to spread around to get the intel on the man who'd tried to blow him up, though she informed him she expected a commission. She had even agreed to help him with the job itself without an additional fee once she learned that the man who had tried to hire her for a corporate espionage job had actually murdered the receptionist's father. It would be her pleasure to help Chandler take a fall.

But they had also "helped" each other out of their clothes and into their bathing suits before they had gone to Seymour's. He was actually thankful when she'd put the sarong over her hips, regardless of how overdressed she felt with it on, because it was way less distracting that just her bikini had been.

When Sam had made a crack about them grabbing dinner, the retired Navy man had implied that that they would be _grabbing_ more than dinner. Michael had played it cool because there was no way he was going to admit that Mr Axe was right on target with his assessment. Both times they had been together since that first night after the fire, Michael had played it cool with Fiona as well.

He was extremely aware that while she had been the one to tell him it was over this time, he had been the one to abandon her in Dublin, mislead her in Berlin and reject her assistance and support when he'd gone off to pursue the people that had burned him. All of this, which he'd compartmentalized into manageable boxes, had come spilling out when he'd gotten a brutal reminder of what it felt like to think someone you… cared about very deeply had been ripped out of your life.

While he was completely bad and admittedly so at processing these feelings into meaningful action, he was a master spy and he knew how to act as though the other party was in charge while letting them know that he was interested and acting on that interest. He just hadn't realized how much he'd been doing it around Fiona until they had _both _called him on it.

"_As stimulating as all this is, I still don't see why you called me over here, Michael."_

She'd been rolling around his bed wearing a beige mini dress than left nearly nothing to the imagination.

Mike had shrugged and smiled. His tone said it all apparently._ "It always helps to bounce ideas, Fi."_

Suddenly Sam couldn't wait to leave the room_. "Uh…. I'm gonna grab another beer," _which he had_. "And … uh… drink it on the balcony," _the ex-SEAL had beat a retreat in double time.

"_Is there something you want to say to me, Michael? Is this about the 'debriefing' the other night?_

"_Is it so strange that I would want your opinion on a job?"_

"_Look me in the eye and tell that's all this is," _she had challenged with a sparkle in those blue green eyes and a smirk on her lips.

"_I have to go see Chandler," _he had decided suddenly, lest something else happen_._

Oh, yeah… they were driving Sam crazy and it hadn't take Mr Axe long to put the pieces together as Michael had been lining his friend up to help him with the next phase of the operation to see that the murdering, thieving art dealer got what he deserved. They needed to plant a bug on Orr's cell phone, who was Chandlers wet work guy. But he couldn't let himself be seen, so Mr Westen needed his team.

"_Hey, uh, speaking of Fi, what was that whole business at the loft? You know, with the weird energy?"_

He had shrugged and sipped his iced tea. There had been no way he was going to answer or look at Sam.

"_Oh, no, Mike, tell me you didn't!" _Sam never was thrilled about him getting back with Fiona the first time, as much as he'd tried to keep that under wraps_. "You did, didn't you? You did!"_

_Okay, let's go with wasn't-paying-attention-what-did-you-say…._

"_What? No, I don't know what you're talking about," and now feigned innocence. "What?"_

Mr Axe wasn't buying it. They'd served together and Sam'd known him too long and too well to sell that.

"_How many times do you have to touch the flame until you figure out that it burns?"_

_Uh….flames….bad analogy, Sam, really bad analogy… _

"_You gonna help with the job or not_?" Michael had pretended to study the papers before him_._

"_Of course, but I object to the fact that you wanted me to work with her without telling me that you were doing a little booty call!"_

That was all it took.

"_Check!"_

"So what are you thinking about so hard? How to turn Poole's account number into a name?" Fiona queried, her voice shattering the silence and disrupting his reminiscing.

He looked at her, startled as he realized that is what he _would have been_ thinking about any other time.

"Just something Sam said… you know, good ol' Sam…"

That brought a sly smile to her lips. "Yea, good ol' Sam…" Fiona had gotten an earful from Mr Axe about them renewing their relationship in the biblical sense while they were staking out the hotel bar and keeping tabs of Mr. Orr before she'd had the less than pleasant task of trying to seduce him.

"_Planting a bug in a cell phone? You think I can't get a guy to go up to his room?"_

"_No, I'd say you have a gift for getting men to make bad choices," Sam_ had snarked with just a touch of self righteousness.

"Michael told you." _That had pissed her off. It was none of Sam's damned business. On the other hand, she was getting really curious about what Michael had said about it until Sam had shot her down._

"_He didn't have to."_

"_Well, don't look at me. He started it."_

She looked at the blade in her hand again… well balanced, incredibly sharp and personally engraved. Mr Talbot's opinion had been the complete opposite of Mr Axe's as far as them pursuing a relationship…

They had been sitting in the Charger, the South Florida based gunrunner in the back seat and the Irish one in the driver's seat, while Michael went to do his spy stuff.

"_That guy, it's like he sees around corners… so what's up with you two? Not together anymore?"_

_Were they together? It had been a very good question and it cut to the heart … her heart actually…but also to the heart of the matter. Just because they had been sleeping together in all senses of that word, did it mean they were together, that they were a 'couple?'_ She had made the mistake of assuming that they were multiple times in their relationship, only to be crushed repeatedly as Michael focused his attention on his responsibilities to his country and the Company and _then _used that same laser like precision to try to _get back in_ with the same bastards that had thrown him out into the cold.

So, as much as she enjoyed Michael pursuing her, two things stuck out clearly in her mind. He could change _his_ mind at any time, as the shock of what had happened faded into the past for one. For another, until he succeeded in his quest to get out from under the people who burned him, they weren't really free to pursue any kind of permanent relationship. Of course, even if he did get free of them, there was no guarantee that he would want to be with her instead of trying to get his old job back again.

"_We're in different spaces, Seymour."_

"_Different spaces? Gimme a break. As a practitioner of Tai Chi, lemme tell ya something, missy, go with the flow of the universe, alright? It's destiny, you two… forces bigger than us. Don't argue with destiny. It will kick your ass. Believe me."_

"_I'll keep that in mind, Seymour"_

She looked at Michael's profile, as he had suddenly gotten really interested in his driving, and remembered when they'd been driving that BMW back from the junkyard and the impromptu fireworks display he'd put on for her and the stars she'd made him see whilst he was driving with just her mouth.

_Tempting… but she was going to let him lead this time and see where it led…._

She stroked her thumb over the engraving again. The Irish Catholic part of her believed in destiny, in things bigger than herself. The practical gunrunner part of her believed that your fate was what you made it with a well chosen weapon and a block of C-4. The woman's heart that she frequently denied she possessed wanted to believe there was a happy ending for them; however, she'd been hurt by him and by life enough times that she was afraid to believe it, but moving on had not worked well for her thus far.

"We're here," he announced as he put the Charger into park on the street in front of her condo.

"So we are…" she agreed. "That was fun."

He flashed his teeth in the darkness. "You have interesting ideas about what's fun."

"I have interesting ideas about a lot of things," she purred. "Unless you need to go do something else, maybe take care of something and then go to bed?"

It took him a minute, but then the words echoed in his head. He'd told her violence was foreplay for her and not for him right before he'd blown her off. It had been a damned lie, but he'd taken the first excuse he could think of to push her away. As he sat there with her, their black clothing standing out on the white leather seats, he wondered now what he had been so afraid of….

"Maybe _we_ can take care of something and then go to bed?" Michael smiled softly as he spoke.

"I don' know, I told ya I'd have to shoot the next person that wakes me up in the morning."

Michael reached out, tangling his fingers in her long auburn locks as he pulled her in for a long, soft kiss.

"Then I'll make sure I don't wake you up until you're ready for breakfast," he offered as their lips parted.

"Until Carla decides to show up," she pouted.

"If Carla shows up at _your_ place, _I'll_ shoot her for you."

"That's a deal," Fiona sighed as she leaned in for another sweet slow kiss.

And no one woke them up in the morning and no one was shot.

Much to Fiona's disappointment.


	14. 301 Enemy of My Enemy - Part 2

_**A/N:**__This next chapter of the re-boot of the 3.01 premiere continues to change up the storyline from the end of Hot Spot (2.11) onwards, following in the more romance, less action vein. Thank you for everyone who has read, reviewed and PM'd. We appreciate your support very much and thank you as well for your response to the new chapter of _True Believer_, our collaboration with our dear friend, Amanda Hawthorn. Sorry again for the delay, but we hope you will find it was worth the wait. RL is just too busy nowadays! _

_Remember BNClub is watching S1E4 Old Friends _ _ 9 PM EDT 10/10 & live tweeting! Join us if you can!_

_()()()()()()_

**3.01 – The Enemy of My Enemy – Part 2**

_An alternate S3 premiere following on from 2.11 – Hot Spot_

_()()()()()()_

The beginning of the week had started well enough. He'd had an account number and, as soon as breakfast was over, Barry would be tasked with turning it into a name for him. He'd woken up wrapped up in Fiona's prized Hungarian goose down duvet and the woman herself. Almost magically, there had been no phone calls, no interruptions and no reason to get out of bed since the spiky haired money launderer was never up much before the crack of noon. The air conditioning, something he hadn't experienced much of while sleeping since he'd been unceremoniously dumped in Miami, along with the thick covers and the warm body snuggled against his, had made it easy to lie still on his back and pretend he was McBride again, wondering when thoughts of then had started to come back so often.

_He'd felt her stir and resisted the temptation to lean in and press kisses onto her hair. He'd learned the hard way a long time ago back in Ireland what happened when Fiona Glenanne was startled awake. _

"_Hey…" she'd said, her voice made soft by her sleepiness._

"_Hey yourself," he'd returned with a smile, turning his head to lay a light touch of his lips to her forehead before returning his gaze to the ceiling. He'd been with her in this bed once before this, but never had he spent the night and awakened in her apartment. "Are you ready for breakfast?"_

"_Maybe…" her voice had drifted up to his ears and then she'd begun to peppering kisses along his jawline, "But I may be too sleepy wake up properly…" Fiona had paused and then had yawned hugely. "I might have ta shoot ya if ya try ta get outta me bed…"_

"_Well, we wouldn't want that," he'd agreed, rolling onto his side and gathering her into his arms, kissing her forehead once more before moving on to that sweet spot where her neck met her shoulder. Morning after sex had always followed one rule: no mouth to mouth contact until teeth met toothbrush._

_It still left a lot of room for fun things to do. _

He'd eventually made it out of her bed, out of her bathroom, out of her kitchen and finally out of her place altogether as he had headed off to see Barry. Several days had gone by after that, during which he'd had another couple of meals, one of which had actually involved food, and another _encounter_ at her luxury abode on the Intracoastal, and then he'd finally received the phone call from Mr. Burkowski.

As Fiona's tolerance for money launderers' in general and Barry in particular was low, there had been no fireworks when he had called Sam to accompany him instead to the meeting at the Chadwick.

There had almost been fireworks of an entirely different sort after the meeting had gone south and a certain counter intelligence agent had shown up offering to do some counter blackmailing in order to obtain the file Michael had been holding over his head since last year.

"_So, pull the trigger." Fiona had tendered her preferred solution to life's little problems as she'd snatched the pile of singles from him while he'd been taking too long in calculating the tip. "There's enough in that file to reduce Bly's career to a smoldering crater," she'd concluded as she'd put the proper amount of money down on the table for their meal at Carlito's, lunch at the hotel eatery having gone very badly._

"_He can link me to Barry and Barry's broken a law library's worth of financial regulations looking into this account number. If Bly goes after me with that, I can throw the rest of my life into that crater too."_

But the CSS agent had gone after him with more than that and, as lunchtime had turned into later-that-afternoon, things had gone decidedly downhill when they'd arrived back at the loft to find people shredding his favorite chair and scouring his living space for non-existent toxic mold.

"_I'm sorry… for your own safety," the government hack in the face mask and medical gloves had said right before making the mistake of trying to touch Fiona. _

"_Don't touch me—for your own safety," had been her rejoinder and Michael remembered thinking at the time for just a brief moment how nice it had been that he'd been allowed to touch her again… frequently. _

But that pleasantry had fled this brain the instant the real reason for his current problem had shown up.

"_According to the Board of Health, this loft is unfit for human habitation and here I thought it was just a dump. Fiona Glenanne..." Jason Bly had looked her up and down and smirked prior to adding, "You're wearing more clothes than usual." _

Looking back about it now, Mr Westen knew he would have enjoyed seeing Fiona knock the smartass on his ass. But he had stopped her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and hugging her close to his body, and while his mind had been focused on what the CSS agent had been threatening him with, another part of him had been thoroughly enjoying the feel of the petite redhead pressed against him.

And the juxtaposition of _those_ ideas alone had been reason enough to go to his mother's house instead of Fiona's. That and the consideration of the chaos that would ensue should Bly be stupid enough to try to redecorate the Irishwoman's apartment as opposed to having another go at his childhood home.

So as he had walked towards the rendezvous with Barry, Sam and Fiona in that order, he'd still been a little stiff from the night spent on his mom's couch. Well, actually, he couldn't blame it all on the couch. He'd had a long day saving Jason Bly and a dozen or so hostages from a bank heist the afternoon before.

A meal of Cuban takeout (not his favorite thing, but he'd already made his mom happy for a change by agreeing to stay for dinner, so why argue at that point?) along with the exertion of the day had left him passed out in his mother's living room. The sense of déjà vu that'd washed over him when Michael had awakened to her beaming smile as she'd offered him almost burnt toast and black coffee, the traditional breakfast in the Westen household once he'd gotten into high school, had actually not been unpleasant.

Too bad he couldn't have said the same for his time trying to referee between Sam and Fiona at lunch.

"_Oh, Mike, back me up," his buddy had requested as soon as he'd sat down. "I think it's pretty clear my tactical maneuverings pretty much saved the day here." Sam had been extremely pleased with himself. _

"_You feeling underappreciated?" Mr Westen had concluded._

"_Oh, no, he appreciates himself plenty," Fiona had announced, chomping the celery from her Bloody Mary. "He's been insufferable ever since you called him first yesterday," and there had been a hint of betrayal in her eyes… or perhaps it had been only his imagination. However, once Sam had compared the tiny but dangerous woman to a very intelligent monkey, Michael had felt compelled to interrupt. _

"_Sam, for your information, I called Fi first," he'd advised the ex-SEAL. Then, turning to the former guerilla, he'd let her know what had happened, "You didn't pick up, which is why I called Sam."_

They'd stared at each other then, that _weird energy_ crackling between them and suddenly pervading the surrounding environs, so much so it had sent Sam in search of another place to drink his beer. After he'd excused himself to go flirt with the nearest waitress, Fiona's pique had turned into something else.

"_So, you're going to go give Bly his life back?" she had asked, dipping the celery stalk and then slowly sucking the vodka infused tomato juice off of it, a hint of a smirk in her 'sweet and innocent' look._

"_He's been feeling more cooperative lately. I think the name of the banker in exchange for a career ending blackmail file seemed fair."_

"_Well, then, I'll leave you to it," she had declared. "Won't do much for all this goodwill you two have with one another now if I shoot him in his other arm," Fiona had sighed and then added, "I would have liked to have seen that." Her smile was seductive. "Maybe later, when he's gone, you can tell me all about it?"_

"_Maybe we can discuss it after dinner later?" _

And they had done more than discuss the particulars of what had transpired with Jason Bly and Michael's mom in the last forty eight hours… far more… The fact that he'd brought a change of clothes with him when he'd gone to pick her up to go out hadn't resonated with him until she'd said something.

"_Oh, planning on spending the night?" she'd purred as he'd hung the button down shirt and slacks in her front hall closet. "You think just because you're buying me dinner you can get into me knickers?"_

"_Just a precaution in case this meeting doesn't go well…" he lied smoothly. It had been then he'd informed her he would be meeting a cut out in the restroom of the restaurant to collect the cash. Barry was still out of town recovering from his encounter with the man from counter surveillance services._

_She'd pouted, but then grinned broadly as she'd rubbed her body up against his and whispered low in his ear, "Well, maybe I won't wear me underwear to dinner then, if that's all you're about, Mr. Westen." _

Remembering that brought a silly smile to her lover's face as the dark haired man watched her drop the fluffy white towel onto the bed. The body hugging midnight blue dress she had been wearing last night had left little to the imagination. He took a moment to openly admire the tan skin covering her well–toned limbs before she shinnied into a form fitting pair of denim shorts and loose tank top. He took another moment to decide that he still, for various reasons, preferred making love to her in the old porcelain tub back at the loft instead of her shower enclosure. _Her bed,_ on the other hand, truly had its advantages.

Waking up at her place, in air conditioned comfort, surrounded by soft bedding, the warmth of her body reminding his of the prior night's coital bliss, was getting to be a habit he was fast becoming addicted to and that thought sent a pang of guilt to his heart and a shiver of fear up his spine while he rolled up the sleeves of his white pin stripe shirt.

Fiona deserved better than the small moments of his time he gave her in between trying to get out from under the people who burned him. But that was all he had to give to right now and his lover had seemed willing to be content with what they had, whatever it was… for the moment….

They had always worked well professionally and now that they seemed to be working well personally, a small part of his brain wondered where this was leading once he'd found out who'd tried to kill him. He pushed the musing back into its box and chuckled softly as the petite Irishwoman reached up, taking the blow dryer and a soft brush to his wet hair as she'd done so many times back in the day in Dublin after she had finished drying her own auburn locks and securing them in a ponytail.

Fiona's contentment had not survived the stroll on the board walk towards the rendezvous with his mysterious banker. Something about him walking unarmed into the unknown perturbed her it seemed.

"I still can't believe you're giving all this money to some sleazy bank manager," she protested as she snatched the cash from his hand and began to count it out.

"I went— we went to a lot of trouble to find this guy," he amended. "I don't have a lot of options here."

"Michael, he hid money for a man who tried to assassinate you. "

"Which makes him a good person to know if I'm trying to find that assassin," Mr Westen reasoned.

"And you're going to this meeting unarmed with no information and I'm staying behind because…?"

The ex-spy shrugged and continued his brisk pace towards his destination. "It's a tactical risk, Fi. I was warned not to meet you the first time." His toothy grin was warm and sincere despite the situation.

"Yeah!" _Finally, he was getting it_. Though they had been dating at the time, him wooing his mate Sean's sister, the first time Michael McBride wannabe RIRA member had come in contact with Fiona Glenanne, PIRA undercover operative, he'd nearly been crippled. "I almost blew off your hand with a block of C-4."

"And I made a _friend_," he replied, putting special emphasis on the word. Michael smiled broader and then shocked Fiona by giving her shoulder a quick squeeze. Mr Westen _did not do_ public displays of affection, especially if he had spy business on the brain. "Maybe I'll make another one."

"Aye and mabbe he'll make a corpse outta ya instead," she groused under her breath, though not out of his exceptional hearing range.

"Watch my back," the dark haired man called over his shoulder as he jogged away.

()()()()()

Patrick Glenanne's eldest daughter had been helping to stitch up her older brothers' and her own wounds since she had been old enough to sew. She'd seen it all, gunshot wounds, flash powder burns, broken bones, dislocated limbs, missing body parts and injuries that could be cause by all forms of knives, glass, metals and shrapnel.

So she'd been hard pressed to come up with a explanation exactly why Michael running across the street towards her Saab clutching his bleeding arm had set her off so badly.

But it had.

"_Michael, what happened?"_

"_He didn't want to make friends."_

For some reason, his usual glib comeback to his injury had made her see red, redder than the blood that he was trying to keep from running down his left arm and onto her upholstery. She had fled the scene, sirens warbling in the background spurring her onward. Fiona had put the Saab through its paces and ended up back at the loft in record time.

Ms Glenanne had been fairly certain the bleeding man had known that she was upset. He'd been a spy after all; it was his damned job to read people. But she had been equally certain that he had no clue _why _she was so angry. _Fair enough for once_, as she'd been having a hard time putting a finger on it herself.

Instead the ex-guerilla had put her fingers to his lacerated arm, stitched the slice shut and advised him to spend some quality time re-learning how to defend himself against a blade before exiting the loft.

When he didn't call later, she hadn't been surprised. Giving them both some space had probably been a really good idea at that particular time, though she'd had to admit she'd been missing having him next to her when she'd gotten into bed that night, the pillows still holding a trace of his scent.

As she'd stared at the ceiling of her luxury flat in the darkness, Fiona had felt the answer come over her like a cold wintery wind, the kind she remembered seeping through the cracks of the old window frames and stealing her breath away in the icy blackness of her childhood nights on the farm, when the fire would go out before its time.

She'd become accustomed to having him around again. Anything that threatened to separate them, be it his bullheaded persistence in putting himself in danger without proper back-up or his own stubborn insistence on finding out who burned him and getting back in the good graces of the CIA, _it all ripped at that nearly never quite healed enough hole he had blasted in her heart when he had abandoned her in Dublin without so much as a note, a word, an apology…nothing… _

The high pitched buzz of the alert tone had jarred her out of her sleep. Slowly, Fiona had realized that she'd finally drifted off into a fitful slumber and that it had in fact become daylight. She'd reached for the device and read the missed text that had popped up on the screen, inviting her to lunch.

She'd sighed heavily, wiped the grime from her eyes and sent _"yes."_ First Campbell and now Michael with the cell phone invitations… _Was she really that hard to talk to? _

Sometimes reputations were earned, she'd supposed. _Hers certainly was_. She hardly had reason to complain about it when it didn't suit her inasmuch as she traded on the fear she struck into people.

_Don' ask tha question if ya don' wanna know tha answer, lass… her Da's voice had echoed in her head._

As it had turned out, Michael ended up cancelling on her for lunch due to a series of events that included Madeline, a Haitian man seeking justice for his murdered daughter and Sam twisting Michael's arm to help, which was fine with her really because she had some gun trading to do that day and the opportunity to vent her frustrations on a deal gone bad had almost been more anticipated than the successful completion of the transaction. Plus, she had to persuade some of her gun runner contacts to put her in touch with some people smugglers and that had been no small task either.

_Michael loved to get self-righteous about what she did for a living, but he never seemed to have any problems using her criminal contacts when it suited his purposes… Like he wa' so fecking noble._

But the deal had gone well and some therapy shopping at some very high scale boutiques had been in order. At first, she had been perturbed by her retail pursuits. The Irishwoman admittedly had never been ample when it came to cup size, but it seemed there was some sort of conspiracy amongst all the designers this season to squeeze what she had upfront and out the top of the dresses. She had been favoring looser clothing since she'd been spending more time horizontal with her dark haired lover. It felt like all the extra attention her breasts were getting lately had made them very sensitive indeed.

So it'd been a very happy coincidence that Michael had called to invite her to a party that required a designer dress while she'd been standing in front of a full length mirror in tight, black little number that fit right everywhere. She'd been pleased to know she looked like the small fortune she had just paid for the garment when she had politely informed the sales clerk she would be wearing it out of the store.

As _Claire Honore_ had stood around, shouting her indignation en François and making her moves on Luc Renard, who had really been a privileged Haitian sociopath named Jean Pierre Dumont, the voice of another extremely rich, powerful and decidedly French man had come to mind. It had been Armand Andreani who had taught her a high class accent and a designer dress could be far more effective and far less bloody than an assault rifle. She had bluffed her way into an invitation only polo match and the presence of a hard to reach Bulgarian wearing less than she had on now and sporting a British accent.

Once inside Renard's Star Island mansion, she had sent him off with the promise of filling the biggest bathtub in Miami with him and some of his closest friends. The office hadn't contained much, as she had informed the ex-spy while she was nosing around looking for a place to plant a bug. His concern for her safety had been touching, but it'd turned out they had bigger worries. Claude Laurent had stood on his car with a megaphone outside the mansion, announcing Monsieur Duman's crimes, and allowing her to slip out of the office and out through the assembled guests undetected in the chaos.

Michael had saved Claude's life and she had found herself home alone again that night as well, lying on her back and thinking about the past, current and future status of her relationship with Mr Westen.

"_You'll always answer when he calls."_

How many nights over the years had she lain awake staring at a ceiling, just as she had that first night back home at her Mammy's house? How many nights over the years had she tried to anesthetize herself to the feelings she had for him? She had gone back to Armand's bed for a very brief time before returning to her gunrunner life and the equally brief company of various men. Dating Campbell had been her latest attempt in a string of many to put Michael Westen behind her and move on.

"_I'm just the guy you borrow ambulances from."_

Had it really been any coincidence that the paramedic had exited from her life just prior to her wayward lover entering it again? Had it really been such a surprise that she'd allowed him to make love to her as it was blatantly clear that Michael still had a hold of her heart, as much as she wished it were not so because he apparently wished it were not so?

"_I'm not your boyfriend, he is."_

How many times would she allow him into her heart and her bed… _only to lose him again…? _

They had grown closer in these last few weeks than they had been since their time in Ireland, closer than they had had a chance to get during those few months following her birthday before….

_Before he'd run off to confront Phillip Cowan without back up… before he'd run off to meet the people that had burned him all alone… and once he'd gotten himself out from under Carla's organization…?_

The potential answer had left her feeling rather queasy and then in a really snarky mood when she'd met up with Mr Axe and Mr Westen at their usual table the next morning for breakfast.

"_So I asked around about who might have brought your knife wielding fake banker into the country. It was rough," she'd advised them both, spearing the melon and chewing with gusto. She had gone from nauseous to ravenous that morning. "I mean, the Miami gun smugglers and the Miami people smugglers, they don't along. And I've always been more of a gun person. "_

"_Sure as hell not a people person," Sam had interjected._

"_You wanna take over, Sam? Oh wait, that's right. I forgot. All your friends wear uniforms, which makes you useless." Fiona hadn't been in the mood for his smart ass remarks._

"_Hey, who found out about his guy in the first place? Huh?"_

_As usual, the man in middle had intervened, cutting them off with a slash of his hand. _

"_Sam, Fi, just keep looking…."_

"_I intend to," she had advised before flouncing off._

Another day of intimidating information out of people had led to another night alone. Claude Laurent would be staying at the loft until the boys finished sorting out Luc Renard's identity problems while she had been tasked with finding the man who had tried to kill Michael. She would have been fine with hunting the man down for reasons of revenge, but the fact that the ex-spy was intent on forging alliances with whomever had tried to end his life because of a wrongly perceived connection to Carla was ridiculous in her opinion. If someone was intent on killing the woman's operatives, let them!

But she had gotten a call in the early morning hours and she had been feeling particularly… she couldn't really put a name to the feeling… but the opportunity to intimidate someone while looking like a fashion model, instead of the former IRA terrorist the English government thought she was, had really appealed to her. So, one see-through, off the shoulder orange mini dress and wedges later, she'd been sitting in her Saab in the early morning light, watching Gary the human smuggler empty out this SUV and his boat.

"_It seems my people skills are improving, Michael," she'd purred into the phone, happy after he'd just informed her that Sam had gone to stash Claude somewhere safe and then scout the grounds of the Renard estate to look for a place to park later in preparation for their operation._

"_You found the guy who smuggled in our fake banker from the Cayman Islands?"_

"_I found where he keeps his boat and he just arrived. I'm sure he'll be in a chatty mood when I'm done introducing myself." _

_Michael's light laughter through the phone line had suddenly set her on fire. "You go easy on him, Fi…"_

"_You're breaking up…" She had closed the cell phone and tossed it into the back seat. _

She'd enjoyed the fact that her reputation had preceded her with the smuggler; he knew all about her shooting up Paco's boat and setting fire to that guy's place up in Boca. Before she'd left, Fiona'd made sure that he also knew what she'd done to the mercenary bastard up in Lake Worth who had kidnapped Jojo Delaney's oldest son and what would happen to Gary if he warned anyone about them conversing.

When she'd gotten back to the car, there had been three missed calls and a message from Michael asking her to come by the loft once she'd completed her task and that he would be waiting for her. She had grinned broadly, throwing the bag that contained the change of clothes she'd brought in case there had been some sneaking around required on the front seat and putting the black sports car in gear.

Michael had been almost all the way out of his clothes and getting ready to take a shower when she'd arrived at the loft. Taking a quick look around to make sure they were truly alone, Fiona had followed him in the bathroom.

"_How's your arm?" she'd queried, running her fingers over the water proof bandage, before passing him by to perch on the toilet and remove her shoes._

"_Better," he'd responded as he'd started fiddling with the taps, trying to get some warm enough water out of them. "Fi…I'm….sorry if I upset you…" he had offered without turning to face her while he spoke._

_Fiona had come up behind him, pressing her now naked body into his almost undressed form as she wrapped her arms around him and began stroking his stomach, lightly scratching over the taut muscles with her nails, before sweeping higher to caress the broad planes of his chest and the second most sensitive points on his well appointed anatomy._

"_I've missed you," she'd told him frankly. Although she'd spent the past few nights worrying about getting too close to him, now suddenly she couldn't have gotten close enough to him fast enough. _

_He'd turned in her arms and leaned in for a long lingering kiss that had gotten progressively more demanding as she had slid her lithe limbs up his back, pressing their hips more firmly together._

"_I need to get cleaned up," he'd informed her as he'd broken their lip lock. "I have to be at—"_

"_Let me help you," she'd cut him off, putting her thumbs in the waist band of his boxers._

_And helped him she had, right out of his remaining clothing and into the shower. She didn't have to ask why they'd spent more time making love in the tiny bathroom at the back of the loft than in his bed. It was the only room with a door that locked, which meant it was the only place with a modicum of guaranteed privacy in his living space, since virtually everyone walked into the loft like they owned it, whether friend like Sam and Madeline, or foe like Bly and Carla, herself included. _

_It had been slow and sweet, what passed between them, as they washed one another before finding their way to the bottom of the tub, entwining their bodies and their hearts before cleaning up again._

_He'd left her in there with another parting kiss and a glowing expression that was probably as happy as the one on her face if she'd had to guess so that she could dry off and dress whilst he went into the larger room to do the same. She'd been finishing off a yogurt and reading through the brochure she'd picked up while he was making his final preparations to go. The angst she'd felt the past few nights had been gone._

"_You should think about moving into one of these storage units. Some of them have air conditioning… it would be a step up," she'd told him, waving the brochure like a little fan._

"_I'll keep that in mind," he'd returned, holding his chin out as a hint that he needed help with his necktie. _

_Fiona had smiled softly. He knew perfectly well how to adjust the thing. It was another way of sharing a moment with her, one that he had used many times in the past and it had pleased her greatly just then._

"_Call the storage unit and make some inquiries; let them know Gustavo passed away and that you're coming by after hours to check on that unit." _

"_I think I can handle that." She'd finished adjusting his tie. "And you can say hello to Mr Duman for me."_

Fiona had taken a trip up the warehouse, had lunch, had her lunch come back up on her as she had broken out in a nasty sweat, taken another shower, changed and gone back to the loft, all the while it had taken the three of them to return from the Dumon estate with the news that things had gone badly.

She'd lain on the bed painting her nails while the boys had formed a new plan and then had excused herself afterwards once the paint had dried. She hadn't liked the way she'd felt all afternoon and a nap seemed to be in order. The Irish woman knew she needed to be fresh for her performance again as the French woman later that day. Whoever he was, their Haitian target was large and heavily muscled. It would take some work to hold him down while the sedative was taking effect.

Michael hadn't been surprised when she'd told him she had things to do to get ready because he had to go outfit the truck Sam was getting for the kidnapping. But he had surprised her greatly by giving her a smile and a squeeze of her hand that was resting on the window frame after he'd walked her to the car.

By the time they had finished their job and Sam had gone off to clean up and have a visit with his FBI buddies, Fiona had risen from her bed, feeling much more refreshed and in the game. Showering for the third time that day and slipping into an outfit guaranteed to attract her mark, she had headed off to coax Monsieur Luc Renard to accompany her back to her hotel room.

Afterwards, as Jean Pierre Dumon was sleeping like an evil sedated baby on his way back to the loft to keep a date with her Saab's trunk, Michael had dropped Fiona off at her doorstep. It was a testament to how drained she had felt that she'd allowed Sam to drive her car and Michael to drive her home and the ex-spy knew it. He'd come in the door and wrapped her arms around her, thanking her for helping bring Veronique's killer to justice. He'd promised that he and Sam would drop her baby off later that night.

They had kissed long and lingering and then he'd asked if she was up for a little night surveillance the following eve. Fiona had agreed and then had sent him home on the excuse that she was sleeping poorly of late and needed to rest up for the job. It had barely registered when later on that night Michael had slipped inside her apartment, kissed her on the cheek and deposited her keys back in her bag on the night stand. He'd whispered something to her, but she had been just too tired to care.

The next day, while the eldest Westen boy was visiting with his mother and Mr Axe was meeting with his old friends, Agents Lane and Harris, Ms Glenanne decided to set an appointment. Her upbringing had taught her that a trip to a hospital or doctor was more likely to end in a trip to jail, so she had always tended her own wounds when possible. Dating a paramedic had been a strange but educational experience.

But waking up alone by choice that morning, sweating and nauseous, before flying to the bathroom barely in time had left her with a problem to puzzle out; the way she was feeling reminded her all too much of the start of a bout of Dengue Fever she'd had back in the day. She didn't think any of Dumon's security people would travel back and forth to Haiti, but support staff and party guests might have.

As she thought back in it, several of the guards at Dumon's party _were_ coughing at the back of the house near the kitchen and one man in particular had spilled a tray of drinks and had said he wasn't feeling well as he'd laid hands upon her after stumbling into her. He had served her a drink earlier in the night.

Having made the appointment with someone legitimate enough to do blood work, but circumspect enough that she needn't work about the results getting around, Fiona sat on her bed, feeling miserable and concluding that she needed to sleep it off as much as possible. They were going to stake out the warehouse tonight and she'd be damned if she was going to let Sam go in her place as back-up.

The next thing she knew, her phone was going off. _It was time to go?_ The redhead sat up and ran a hand through her hair. Shaking her head as she shut off the alarm on her cell, she moved off the bed and headed towards the shower, attempting to wash the malaise away. Another nap after lunch and double something or other Cuban-made drinks with shots of espresso would be in order before this evening.

Of all the luck to take a case that would expose her to something tropical right before Michael needed her to bring her A-game. No matter, she was Fiona Glenanne and she would make it work regardless.

()()()()()()

When his back-up arrived at the loft that night, dressed all in black and toting the heavy hardware he had requested, the woman in question had looked a bit flushed at first. The admittedly heavy leather bags seemed to be giving her some trouble as she tried to maneuver them up the narrow metal stairs that led to his home. As Michael took the larger load from her, he was forcibly reminded that Fiona was in fact a head shorter than he was and was half his weight. She was always so strong and independent that he often forgot how small the package was in which the little dynamo kept all that energy.

But whatever concerns he'd momentarily had were pushed to the back of his mind as the munitions and supplies were laid out on his bed, selecting those items he thought necessary from the options she'd provided him while the former guerilla assembled a weapon with plenty of power and range.

"You called the storage place?" the dark haired man in the _stealth suit_ asked as he loaded his go-bag.

"Manager knows we're coming," she answered. "For the record, Michael, I don't like this plan. "

"What plan?" He barely glanced at her. He knew what was coming next.

"You using yourself as bait." She wouldn't look at him either. Fiona kept her eyes focused on checking her rifle. "To see if whoever sent Gustavo after you takes another crack," she concluded.

"That's what I would do," he told her honestly, looking at her and wondering what was going on with her now. She'd been off the last couple of days. He noticed, but not knowing what to do about it, he'd let it go. Claude Laurent had kept him busy and now he was one step closer to getting the man who had tried to kill him. She had seemed to bounce back just fine when they reconnected again the other day.

She finally returned his stare and her expression unsettled him. The lithe woman heaved a sigh and then hefted the weapon, sighting down the scope and ensuring that the alignment was correct.

"You gonna let me back you up for real this time?"

"Fi.." he admonished as he put the clip in his SIG, chambered the weapon and then stuffed it in his waistband. There was an odd flavor to her concern, an overprotectiveness he didn't understand.

"If you're right, there's a good chance he's waiting on a roof with a rifle to take a shot at you," Fiona told him as she continued to look through the telescopic lens, before peering slyly at him over the stock and whispering, "That's what I would do."

"I need him alive," he told her directly as he hoisted the bag onto his shoulders, considering the matter closed. He started to turn to head out to the Charger.

His companion lowered her weapon so quickly that she almost buried the barrel into the bedding.

"And I need _you_ alive, Michael!"

Fiona drew a sharp breath, as though she'd surprised herself as much as him with her outburst.

"And so does Sam and so does your mom! We've all gotten used to having you around and none of us wants to go back to living with what it feels like to_ not_ have you around!" She slung the firearm back up onto her shoulder. "So you just think about that while you're risking your life gathering your intel!"

And she stormed out of the loft.

Michael stood there, stunned and speechless, for a moment.

Not knowing what to say or do _about that_, he did what his training told him to do and refocused on the mission. It made for a very charged, but silent, ride to the warehouse. But she was a professional in her own right and, once they were on site, they followed the plans they had laid out earlier with precision.

_If you suspect you're walking into an ambush, searching for where the bad guys are hidden is probably going to get you killed_.

He crouched down now, in front of the door of the Unit 2410 in Building 23 where Gustavo's employer had his warehouse. "See anything, Fi?"

_Unless you get lucky and find them in the first place you look, you are dead._

"Not yet…" Her voice sounded in his earpiece. "Maybe it's time we announced our arrival."

_If you can manage it, the best move is to make it impossible to hide._

Michael loaded the flare into the gun quickly, then raised his arm straight up, firing it such the lighting drifted over the roof, while he pressed as tightly into the roll up door as possible.

"He's right above you," Fiona informed him. "He's on the move, Michael."

Despite their best laid plans, his quarry had flown over the roof tops of the buildings while Michael had pursued on the ground. His ridiculously fleet and fortunate target had managed to leap over a twelve foot razor wire fence into the bed of a pickup and off to his car. _Yeah, it turned out they'd met before. _

_Victor… Victor tried to kill me… Victor tried to kill me not because Carla told him to… Victor had tried to kill me because I was working for Carla…. The enemy of my enemy could be my only friend in this…._

The ride back to the loft was as silent as the drive to the warehouse had been, but with a completely different vibe. His thoughts were completely wrapped up in trying to plan, what this meant, how he could turn this new revelation to his advantage, imaging the possibilities of what could happen and then strategizing each outcome, what were the attendant risks and how to deploy resources, the need to get the non-combatants out of harms' ways… doing his Michael Westen, covert operative supreme routine…

He only really noticed Fiona hadn't said a word, even after they had parked the large black muscle car in the space below the loft stairs behind her smaller black sports car, when she'd begun to silently empty one trunk into the other.

"You don't have to do that tonight," he told her, laying ahold of the deck lid and closing it.

She just looked at him. Even in the low lights, it was possible to see how fatigued she was.

_How had he not noticed that before? _

"Come upstairs," he urged. "It can wait for tomorrow."

"No, ya don' wanna go around looking like a gunrunner if yer get stopped," she slurred, a bit of Irish coming out. She tried to push past him and go back towards the Saab, but he caught her arm and held her in place. Then he used his superior statistics to back her into the side of the Charger and pin her.

Michael lifted a calloused hand to cradle her jawline and tilted her head up. "Please, Fi?"

She shook her head slightly, as much as she could while he stroked her cheek with his thumb now. "I think I picked up something at Mr Dumon's besides him," she gibed. "I need to get some sleep."

He stared into her eyes under the minimal light. Yes, she did look tired… wiped out actually… but he couldn't put his finger on what else was there. "Then let me drive you home and tuck you in."

Ms Glenanne surprised him by agreeing without much of an argument. She shook her head more forcefully when he leaned forward to kiss her. "Have ya not heard me? I'm not—"

"I've got a pretty sturdy immune system, I'll take my chances." Michael surrounded her face with both his hands and drew her in for a kiss, though he kept it shorter than usual. Releasing her, he opened the passenger door and eased her into the seat. "I'll be right back."

He was back in the Charger in no time, her things and his bag in hand, but she was already dozing off when he got there. Mr Westen watched her from the corner of his eye most of the way back to her apartment. She looked wane and he compared it to her earlier appearance. _She had been a bit off._

The ex-spy unloaded the back of the black muscle car while she excused herself to make a cup of tea.

The tiny Irishwoman was sitting on her bed, the unattended mug on the nightstand, staring at nothing, when he came back inside the apartment. Mr Westen then excused himself to take a shower, half expecting that she would have joined him. But when he returned to the bedroom, toweling through his wet hair and wearing the pajama bottoms he'd brought with him, the weary woman was already asleep on top of her comforter still dressed in her black clothes and her boots, her beverage cold and abandoned.

That stopped him short. Fiona would _never_ have allowed anyone else to do that. He stood looking at her for a moment, feeling another smile spread over his countenance for no good reason he could think of. _She was so beautiful. Even exhausted, she captivated him as she had since that day back in Belfast._

Sitting on the end of the soft, queen sized mattress, he doffed her footwear and then loomed over her, removing her cargo pants. She barely stirred, other than to give him a bleary, one-eyed stare that confirmed his identity before she went back to sleep. He felt her forehead, which was warm but not alarmingly so. The dark haired man did a quick check of her pulse points and then scooped her limp form off the bed long enough to pull back the covers. The redhead was dead weight in his arms…

Michael wondered what sort of bug Fiona could have picked up as he scooted into her bed and spooned up against her. The feel of her frame against his was soothing as he tried not to worry about how sick she might turn out to be. Her outburst from earlier echoed in his brain as well. _No, he didn't think about how other people felt about him not being around, he hadn't for decades._ The concept that someone would miss him for reasons other than needing his services was completely foreign to him.

As he cuddled her close and pressed tiny kisses into her hair, he remembered what it had felt like to think her lost to him forever. Trying to wrap his mind around how he had felt and then applying it to Fiona's feelings was an exercise that was painful at the least. Michael pushed that back into its box and let her heat permeate his whole body. He'd missed sleeping with her, that he could admit, and he had a lot of planning and executing to do over the next couple of days. So the ex-spy let himself dream of happy days in Dublin and get some much needed rest and, though he was loath to admit it, comfort.

()()()()()

When the sound of her phone buzzing startled them both awake, neither could believe they had slept that heavily or this late. Fiona in particular felt totally disoriented when he had reached over the top of her to snatch up the cell and then hand it to her a second or two too late to take the call. The Irish woman was less concerned about who it had been on the phone than with how she had ended up wearing half her combat gear and snuggled up against the well-muscled frame of one Michael Westen.

"Hey…" His smile was dazzling as she looked back up into his beautiful blue eyes. His super spy mask hadn't fallen into place yet and it made her heart skip a beat. "Aren't you going to see who called?"

"I've got more important questions to think about," she told him with a grin of her own.

"And what would that be?"

"What are you making me for breakfast? I missed me dinner…"

He kissed her cheek, pleased that she seemed to be more herself this morning. "What do you want?"

"Maybe an omelet, if your cooking skills are up to the challenge..."

"Convincing me to get out of bed right now is too much of a challenge," he whispered in her ear, squeezing her tightly before pulling away and turning her onto her back.

"Honestly, Michael, I'm starving," she pleaded.

"So am I," he agreed, raising up on one elbow before his head disappeared under the covers and her clothing did as well shortly thereafter. She felt like she would pass out from all the attention her body was being given in _all_ the right places and felt a indescribably sweet warmth spread throughout her entire being as they joined together in intimacy, the feel of him against her almost making her weep.

Eventually, Fiona got her breakfast and her shower, but the glow lingered as she sat on the end of the bed smiling at his back while he dressed for their meeting with his handler. _Maybe she would get to shoot Carla today_, she thought happily before remembering the phone message.

But regardless of how contented she had been the moment before, something in the tone of the woman on the phone had made her blood ran cold when she heard the words of her medical provider replayed.

"Ms Glenanne, ya needing to come and see me about yar test results as soon as possible."


	15. 301 Enemy of My Enemy - Part 3

_**A/N:**__This is the final chapter the new 3.01 premiere "Enemy of My Enemy." Thank you to everyone for their support of this offering, its new style as well as this entire series. Since this chapter is going to be ridiculously long and since we hate missing deadlines, the first half of the chapter is being posted today. The second half will be posted on Wednesday and a chapter of _Reconnecting_ as an epilogue for this story will appear on the M-page on Friday. Next week, the final installment of _Puppies, Kittens & Gun Toting Babies_ begins with the new 2.01 premiere _"Free to Be You and Me."

_On another note, anyone interested in the details of Michael's breakup with Samantha, the story can be found in _"Who We Leave Behind – After Ireland"_ on the M-page by _Jedi Skysinger_._

_Remember BNClub is watching S1E5 Family Business _ _ 9 PM EDT 10/17 & live tweeting! Join us if you can and bring a friend. Neilsen's Ratings are now analyzing Twitter #hashtags, so let's make sure we keep #burnnotice trending on Thursdays. Let's show them what #burners can do!_

_()()()()()()_

**3.01 – The Enemy of My Enemy – Part 3**

_An alternate S3 premiere following on from 2.11 – Hot Spot_

_()()()()()()_

When Michael had asked her to watch his back, apparently he had meant it literally. Sitting in the Charger, letting the sea breeze off the marina waft through the windows, Fiona tapped her foot irritably against the brake pedal of the parked muscle car while she stared at the back of his charcoal grey suit coat as he sat facing Carla and away from the vehicle. _They _were chatting near the water with a small concrete table between the two hard benches upon which _they_ were seated while _she_ waited on hold of the doctor to come on the line, impatient and incapable of doing anything to resolve her circumstances.

The Irishwoman had spotted Carla's back-up. They were doing a terrible job of being inconspicuous to say the least. The pair was the same two who'd accompanied Michael's handler to the loft the other day and the urge to shoot them to make a point about _how rotten_ a job they were doing was fast becoming overwhelming. Luckily for the hapless duo, the medico came on the line as she was reaching for her H&K.

"Ms. Glenanne, you'll be happy to be knowing that ya don' have the Dengue Fever, or any other tropical ailment fer that matter."

And it was a relief, but it begged a worse question. "And…?"

"And I know in your line of work thot congratulations might not be what ya be wanting fer what I'm going to tell ya..."

"Spit it out!" Fiona demanded, her nerves shattered and the man at the heart of this on his way back.

"You're pregnant." The subtle Jamaican accent somehow made the statement surreal.

"You're wrong," she countered harshly. "Run the tests again!"

"I be guessing ya wanna to know how pregnant ya are, so if you could come in the office later—"

"I have to go," the redhead declared, snapping the phone shut and getting out of the vehicle. Leaning against the classic muscle car, she crossed her arms over her chest and channelled her anxiety into interrogating the ex-spy who was strolling casually towards her.

_Like good poker players, spies know it's impossible to hide the tells that come with a bloodstream full of adrenaline. If showing fear or concern jeopardizes a mission, you replace it with an emotion that won't._

"You didn't tell her it was Victor, did you? The man has tried to kill you twice and you're protecting him." She stared past him, watching Carla and her people retreat into the distance with a furious glare, unable to look at him for the moment and hoping that he would misread why she was totally wound up.

"He's the one enemy I know Carla has. I'd like to least talk to him before I turn him in."

He held out his hands for the keys and she glanced at him before dropping them into his grasp.

"You think he'll stop trying to kill you long enough for the two of you to grab lunch and have a chat?" she asked in a sing song voice that oozed sarcasm as she went around to the passenger side.

"Everybody loves a free lunch."

His flippant disregard for his own safety made her blood boil. Fiona stared straight out the windshield, exuding righteous anger while trying to pull her dispersant thoughts together. _The tests had to be wrong, the doctor had to be wrong, Michael was wrong to try to make friends with someone who was trying to kill him and she was wrong to try to-_

"Fi?"

She continued to keep her gaze on the road ahead of them, her mouth set in a hard line, looking like cold fury on the outside while trying collect herself on the inside. He let the charged atmosphere linger on for several more minutes as they headed back to the loft.

"Look, Fi, I know you're upset."

"Really?"_ Upset doesn't begin to cover it. _"Ya don' say."

"Yes, it's a calculated risk," he continued as if she'd answered him properly. "But if I can catch him when he comes at me again, then we _can_ have a chat and we'll all be safer once I know what he knows."

She snorted. "You'll be safer once he's dead."

"Fiona," he sighed. "I don't like this any more than you do, but I need leverage to get out from under the people that burned me and he's the only option I have right now."

Then there was the only sound of the motor, the proximate traffic and the wind through the windows.

"And then what, Michael?" was the query that broke the heavy silence. "What are you going to do when you have your freedom again?"

He looked over at her and saw something in her countenance that made him turn away once more.

"Let's talk about that when I'm free," he suggested.

Fiona closed her eyes as an exasperated sigh escaped her. _When had either of them ever truly been free? The man she'd fallen in love with was married to the CIA… and she was the other woman at best._

She heard him pull out his phone and pressed number two on the speed dial.

"Sam, can you get over to my mom's place?" and he outlined for Sam what he needed done.

"Just make sure you're _around_ for that conversation, Michael," she advised almost inaudibly, as they pulled up to the gates surrounding the loft and she got out of the car.

Once they were upstairs and inside, Fiona moved quickly to the refrigerator. She'd overhead enough of the call to know that Sam was on his way to retrieve Madeline from her home and escort her to the loft.

When Michael's mother arrived, there would be no opportunity for quiet conversation. She couldn't tell him anything specific while this was going on, nor did she have anything solid to report. But she needed him to know that they had a date for a discussion about where their relationship was headed. This pregnancy scare_, that's all it was she decided, it was a scare,_ had made her reflect regarding the unstable nature of their on-again, off-again association and, while she did indeed know how to thrive on chaos, there was something to be said for a small spot of certainty, if any such thing could exist in their lives.

She was pulling two yogurts out of the fridge when she heard the silverware drawer close behind her. As she shut the refrigerator, he came upon her, pressing into her back and wrapping his arms around her.

"I'm sorry, but the sooner we clear this up, the sooner we can move on…" he whispered.

He let the words linger in the air as his lips lingered near her ear, then nipped at the lobe ever so gently.

Fiona sighed… Did he mean what she thought he did, or was he just trying to placate her in order gain her cooperation? _God, how she hated these guessing games with him…. _Still, it was more attention and affection than he'd shown her in recent memory….

After collecting several kisses from him, they had settled down at the bar to eat their respective snacks and try to puzzle out the best way for them to flush Victor out into the open. After agreeing on their tactics, Fiona had no more than finished swallowing a mouthful of dairy when there was a crash of sound in back of her. As predicated, Michael's mother had come through the door fully on the warpath and not at all pleased when informed that she would be staying with her son in his dump of an abode.

However, the sound of the gate opening, which Sam assured the ex-spy he had locked, stopped Maddie in mid-rant and all the hardware came out as they positioned themselves strategically throughout the room before the dark haired man pulled the handle on the still charred barrier to his home, revealing a slender brunette expensively dressed in tight-fitting clothing standing at the entrance.

"Sam?" was Michael's stunned syllable. Clearly, he had known immediately who she was.

"Yeah, Mike?" Mr. Axe responded.

"He was talking to me," the woman corrected, stepping inside as Michael lowered his weapon and their eyes locked.

"Who are you?" Ms Glenanne inquired. She could read people at a glance. It had saved her life many times as a member of the IRA and in her later career as a gunrunner cum a black marketer and she didn't like what she was seeing one bit.

The other woman turned those brown eyes towards her for just a moment.

"I'm Samantha," she answered before looking back towards Mr. Westen with an expression on her pale face that made Fiona's skin crawl. "Michael and I used to be engaged."

The other Sam in the room blew out a noisy breath.

_For a spy, compartmentalization is second nature. Information is given on a need to know basis. In your professional life, this approach keeps you safe. In your personal life, it can be dangerous_.

Michael stood there, seemingly in a trance for another painfully long moment before muttering, "Excuse us," and disappearing out the doorway with former naval commander in pursuit.

Fiona didn't remember making her way to the bed and sitting down. She didn't really track Madeline dropping the butcher knife in the sink with a noisy clatter, although she was vaguely aware of the cigarette his mother had lit as the older woman had stormed past her with it to perch on the stairs.

Mr. Axe had apparently determined that his friend didn't require back up, so he had returned inside, chuckling nervously and trying to figure out how to defuse the tension that was palpable in the room.

"So, uh, another Sam, this is gonna be confusing, huh?"

"Have you ever been secretly engaged to my son?" the blonde shot back.

"No," he admitted quietly.

"Then I think we'll be able to tell you apart."

"Fair enough."

"I can't believe it. No, I- I can believe it. It's just like Michael!" Madeline ranted.

Fiona, staring straight ahead with her hands folded in her lap, was too wrapped up in her own internal dialogue to care one whit about what the older two people in the room were discussing.

_An ex-fiancée… Michael had been engaged to someone…Michael had been about to marry someone… Michael had lived with her in Ireland and left her, he'd made love to her and abandoned her, only to drop into her life again and again, never once saying a word about being almost married to someone…_

"Look, ladies, don't be too hard on Mike. I'm sure there's a very good reason why he never mentioned her before. I mean, you know, these things just happen sometimes…" Suddenly, the ex-SEAL seemed to realize that Little Miss Firecracker had been way too quiet…"Anybody else need a drink? No? Okay…" And like the good soldier he was, Sam grabbed a beer and beat a hasty retreat out onto the balcony.

While his mother continued to vent her frustrations at her son's obliqueness, Ms Glenanne let the words wash over her as she sighed and kept her eyes fixed on a spot on the wall between the window and the workbench as her mind swirled with half-finished thoughts and divergent impulses.

_When were they engaged?_ …She wanted to walk away and never look back…. _Why had he proposed to this Samantha and not her?_…She could go to New York…_Was he engaged to Samantha while he had been sleeping with her?…_ She could go back home to Ireland…_Had he abandoned Samantha and moved on to her, or abandoned her and nearly married Samantha? _ She could disappear…_Why was Samantha here? …_She could beat the living daylights out of him and grind the pieces into the dirt…_Why was SHE still here, sleeping with him, hoping that there was something between them when he obviously…_

Michael re-entered the loft, but Fiona didn't acknowledge him. She could feel rather than see Sam return to the room, standing a few careful feet to her right, what he judged a safe distance no doubt.

"We…uhh… need to have lunch… at a uh…"

"All of us, Mike?" Mr. Axe inquired, looking over the top of the Irish woman, who was sitting up ramrod straight on the edge of Mr. Westen's bed and saying nothing.

"Yes… well, no, actually…:" The dark haired man at least had the good grace to look chagrined. "Samantha's in trouble and we need to talk—"

Madeline cut him off with a derisive sneer. "_That's_ an understatement."

"Mom, I need you to stay here. This is about to get a lot more dangerous. Fi, can you watch—"

Ms. Glenanne shot up off the bed in one smooth motion. "Of course, Michael, I wouldn't miss this for the world. Sam, you're with me," she ordered, sending him a look that demanded obedience.

"Whatever you say, boss lady," the former SEAL agreed as he trailed behind her. "We'll follow you, brother." She heard Sam say behind her as she descended the stairs and completely ignored with the brunette already sitting in the passenger seat of the Charger.

()

Sam had said little on their drive to the outdoor patio dining spot which was adjacent to the hiding place of the source of all of Samantha's current troubles, an evil SOB by the name of Tyler Brennan. Their relationship was prickly at best and she had used more than one opportunity to make sure he had suffered a bit of physical pain while they were working jobs together.

But if there was one thing she couldn't stand more than his antipathy, it was his sympathy.

But he had surprisingly been smart enough to wait until they were out of his car and on their way through the parking garage towards the elevators, where he had room to dodge any possible blows, before saying anything.

"Look, Fi, I know you're pissed and you have every right to be…" She could tell this was awkward in the extreme for him to be agreeing with her. "But he never told me either… I mean, we did missions together, I saved his ass, he saved mine more than once, but he never told me a thing about her."

"Yea, I did that with him, too. Tell me, Sam, did you sleep with Michael during any of that time?"

"Fair enough," had been his final words to her on the subject.

As they had assembled around the table, three lime-laden ice waters and a Long Island Iced Tea later, they were discussing the particulars of his ex-fiancée's problems with Michael sitting between the two of them and Sam sipping his booze on her right.

She tried not to be too catty when calling the thief out for being coy about her line of work, assuring the brunette she was among friends with only a hint of the real emotion she was feeling.

_Fiona could hear Michael's voice in her head. 'You were robbing banks for the IRA' he'd said like he was so much better than she was because he stole for his government and yet he had proposed to a woman who apparently was master acquisitions artists enough to steal the guidance chip from a UAV spy drone. _

"Oh come on," Sam protested vehemently as the other Sam had laid the stolen military tech on the table, casually removing it from her purse like it was the latest hot hard drive on the market. "I thought this was a 'get to know the ex' lunch. Now it's a 'nineteen government agencies are chasing me' lunch?"

"No, I-I got away clean. But when they realize it's missing, they're gonna know it was me."

That caught Fiona's attention. She took her sunglasses off and stared at the pale woman. "How?"

"I had to get a job working there to get access. My key card activity will give me away," Samantha explained. "I'm new, I went in at night and if you check my history, you'll see that..."

"Sam, why would you—" the ex-spy began, clearly wondering why she had been so sloppy.

Ms. Keyes cut him off. "I didn't have time to do it any other way. Brennan kidnapped my son. This is the ransom.

"You have a son?" Michael asked quickly.

_That really got the redhead's attention_.

"Charlie's nine," Samantha said, staring down at the table and avoiding everyone's eyes.

Fiona looked from the other woman's downcast eyes to Michael's incredulous profile, doing the math in her head and arriving back at the proximity of his departure from Ireland. "When did you—"

"Is he—" The dark haired man stammered. His blue eyes might have been hidden behind his Oliver Peoples Victory 55's, but his voice gave away everything.

Samantha refused to meet his eyes for another moment and then said, "No. No, he's not…" The look on her face made the Irishwoman want to scream. "But he needs you."

Fiona saw him first turn his gaze towards Sam and then her. She put her glasses back on to hide the conflicting emotions that were churning inside her which would no doubt be reflected in her stormy blue green eyes_. _

_It was a kid, a kid that needed help, a kid that was being used a pawn in some dangerous game…_

"When I think about what might happen to him, I—" the woman's voice broke.

_Just like her child might be one day…_

"What do you want us to do?" Mr. Westen queried.

"The trade's tomorrow. I don't want to give this to Brennan, but I need my boy back. Please…"

Of course they were going to do it. There was no way Sam Axe was going to allow military tech to fall in the hands of black marketer and there was no a kid in danger, any kid, who would be left undefended, not while Fiona Glenanne was around… not even if it was Michael's previous undiscovered offspring.

So they scouted the site; the former Navy man had his say, the one-time terrorist had her say and the ex-spy laid out the plan that they were all going to follow in order to rescue the kid and keep the chip.

Sam decided that taking Samantha back to her hotel was the safer option and they were suddenly alone in Bayfront Park, walking towards the waiting Charger.

"I know I owe you some answers."

"You owe me a helluva lot more than that."

In response, Mr Westen moved slightly ahead of her, leaving a view of from behind his shoulder as he spoke quickly, but never once looked her in the eye.

"I knew Samantha before I met you. We were in St. Petersburg in '97. She was helping me out on a job and things moved, uh, quickly. Then I realized we didn't have what we needed to make it last."

"What was that? _Trust?_ Did you sneak out in the middle of the night on her too or did you manage to tell her goodbye? Did you keep dropping into her life again often enough for her to keep holding out hope that there might be a happy ending someday somewhere somehow?" she demanded fiercely.

She stopped walking and planted her hands on her hips, forcing him to stop and face her.

"You were engaged to her the whole time we were together, weren't you?" It wasn't a question. "I can't decide who's the bigger fool, me for trusting you or her for waiting for you!" Fiona's temper flared hot.

Michael looked around quickly, obviously uncomfortable with the amount of attention they were attracting. "I always wanted to tell you. I was just waiting for the right time."

"And when was it even gonna be the right time, Michael? When Charlie showed up to invite you to his college graduation party? It wasn't the right time when we met. It wasn't the right time when we started dating. It wasn't the right time when we started working together. It wasn't the right time when I let ya inta me bed and inta me heart. Why it warn't even tha right time when I moved ta Miami, wa' it?

The enraged ex-guerilla paused and sucked in a huge breath, her chest heaving as she tried to bring her anger and her accent back under control and failing miserably at both. The former operative slapped her lover hard across the face, the impact making a loud crack and snapping his head to the side_. _

"_Be grateful it warn't me fist!" _Fiona fumed internally, as the red tinge was slowly leaving her vision_._

"No, it wa' tha right time ta tell me when she showed up on yar front step, thot abou' right?" she gibed.

The fiery Irish woman didn't expect an answer from the dark haired man, who was holding the side of his face and staring wide-eyed at her.

"I'll find me own way home," she declared, spinning on her heels and marching away.

_How dare he? He was engaged _to her_ the whole time _they_ were together. The lying sonuvabith! He'd made her think he wanted to be with her, cared about her and he was engaged to someone else the whole fecking time! Maybe he'd even had a child by her… How could he father another woman's child?_

The wellspring of outrage dried up in a heartbeat and Fiona staggered so badly that she almost fell to her knees on the hard ground as the realization exploded into her consciousness like a shotgun blast.

_She could be carrying another man's child!_

It had been mere weeks between Campbell informing her that he wasn't her boyfriend anymore and Michael, lost, hurt and soaking wet, carrying her from the barstool in the kitchen into the shower.

_She was judging Michael about a child that might not even be his while she could be the one who was guilty of sleeping with him, of wanting to be with him and all that time being pregnant by the paramedic._

She turned the corner out of his line of sight and fled towards the taxi stand as fast as she could run.

_She had to get to the doctor's office now!_

()()()()()

Much later that afternoon, Mr Westen sat at the Carlito's, staring at the three empty glasses of iced tea on the table before him contemplating the images that he consumed his mind while he had consumed each of the beverages. The things that haunted him usually involved death and destruction… mayhem and loss of life that he had caused in the service of his country.

But now, other things, things he usually managed to keep locked away where such things that troubled him could not, these things were preying on his mind and his heart.

"_You had something to propose?" he'd asked as they lain in bed, both successful on their mission and sated afterwards. Working with Samantha, sleeping with Samantha had been so easy until that second._

"_Yes, I'm proposing," she had agreed, watching to see when or if what she was saying had sunk in. "Marry me, Michael."_

_As she had enumerated all of the swallow, superficial reasons why their personal partnership could be an extension of their professional relationship, he had thought he'd found the perfect arrangement. _

"_Well, when you put it that way," he had responded at length, pushing her over onto her back before returning her kiss. "Why not?"_

He shook his head as he sipped on his fourth drink. How different that memory was from the last time he'd seen her, two years after that, after eighteen of the most exciting, blissful, confusing, explosive, agonizing months of his entire life. At the end of it, he had tried to take Fiona with him, but the world had conspired to keep them apart and that had left him something to do in the summer of 1999.

_He was just going to collect his things in the dead of night and tell her goodbye in the morning. But she'd caught him in the bathroom in the darkness and he'd taken her right there on the floor, giving in to his pain and his need at her expense. He didn't love her, but he shouldn't have done what he had._

And if he hadn't, he wouldn't be sitting here, hiding out from the two women in his life who were both furious with him at the moment, wondering if that indiscretion might have been catalyst for a whole series of unknown events. He wondered if there were others, as he absently rubbed the glass of cool liquid across his abraded cheek. It was a wonder that Samantha hadn't struck him, except she was too shell-shocked at the time and physical violence was Fiona's stock in trade, not his former fiancée's.

But the look of utter astonishment on the brunette's face had been nothing compared to the depths of hurt and betrayal that he been in those blue green eyes he knew so well. How many times could he reasonably expect her to forgive him for lying to her, intentionally in service of his country, as well as unintentionally when his mouth wrote checks that his heart wanted to cash, but his mind, his job and his circumstances would never allow to be tendered, until the night he thought he'd lost her to the fire.

All the boxes had spilled open then and now, as he had seen her walk away and almost fall to her knees.

He had seen her roaring drunk, murderously angry, devastatingly hurt, wretched sick, in a the heat of battle, in the throes of passion or acting that role undercover, but he'd never seen her almost crumble.

And he had been the cause of it. He had wanted her in his future and he had hurt her due to his past.

Michael let out a long sigh and set the empty glass down on the table. He had no clue how to fix this. He had a somewhat better idea of what to do about his little homicidal former rodeo clown problem. The irony of that fact was not lost on him and the ex-spy was very relieved to see Sam walking up with some intel that would help in deal with the problem that he could do something about.

()()()()()()

Fiona Glenanne was frantic.

She stalked around her bedroom, shooting murderous glares at the half dozen of blue and white sticks lined up neatly on her sink every time she moved past the doorway to the bathroom. Every one of those traitorous little pieces of plastic had failed to give her the answer she needed. She chambered the weapon in her shaking hand and pointed at the sink yet again before retreating to her bed to make the HK safe again for another one of a dozen times.

She had already gone to the range once today, after leaving the doctor's office without getting what she wanted. The medico was not there… apparently a large number of her clients were involved in a drive-by shooting and the woman had made a house call, backed up by her husband and brothers. The only one left in the building was the doctor's mother, a short, stout female who reminded her of Trini Delaney in her appearance and taste for jewelry and of her Auntie Claire in her build and personality.

"_They ain't here an' ya can be wavin' that gun at me all ya like, girl. it ain't gonna getcha what ya want, missy! Here…" The dark woman had shoved a bag of Clear Blue test sticks at her. "Go home and mind yar business and come back later tomorra."_

That had been worth ten boxes of ammo at her favorite gun range for her H&K and her Hectate. But all the calm she had gained from that trip to the Everglades had vanished after the first test taken.

She stormed back into the bathroom. Looking down at the little windows on the slender pieces of plastic, determined that by the weight of her stare she would change the results, but to no avail.

3+ Weeks pregnant, it said… They all did.

_Not 1…_

_Not 1 -2 weeks…_

Either of those would have meant it was Michael's baby she was carrying inside her.

_But 3+weeks pregnant..._ that could be Michael was the father … _right at 3 weeks_.

Or it could mean that Campbell was the father at anything over that….

Fiona breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth… She was feeling dizzy and nauseous again. She had no idea what to do, how to calm herself or what she should do not to go insane while she was awaiting the answer to that incredibility critical question.

Suddenly, her knees began to tremble and it was all she could do to make it back to the bed before she collapsed on the comfort of her bed. She pulled the pillow, the one that still retained a small trace of his scent, into her embrace as she drew her legs up and began to sob uncontrollably.

TBC


	16. 301 Enemy of My Enemy - Part 4

_**A/N:**__This is the second half of the final chapter the new 3.01 premiere "Enemy of My Enemy." The first half of the chapter was posted on Monday. We are sorry to have to apologize again for a delay in posting. A chapter of _Reconnecting_ as an epilogue for this story will appear on the M-page on Saturday now._

_Next week, the final installment of _Puppies, Kittens & Gun Toting Babies_ begins with the new 2.01 premiere _"Free to Be You and Me." _Thank you to everyone for all the reviews, follows and fav's!._

_Remember BNClub is watching S1E5 Family Business _ _ 9 PM EDT 10/17 & live tweeting! Join us if you can and bring a friend. Neilsen's Ratings are now analyzing Twitter #hashtags, so let's make sure we keep #burnnotice trending on Thursdays. Let's show them what #burners can do!_

_()()()()()()_

**3.01 – The Enemy of My Enemy – Part 3.1**

()()()()()()

No matter how hard she tried to fight it, she couldn't stop crying. Of all the things she expected to bring her pain in her life, not knowing who the father of her baby might be was not something she was prepared to deal with by temperament or experience. How had this happened to her? Then she remembered. She had missed her Depo shot in the craziness when Michael had almost gotten blown up.

While the hormone-fueled misery was passing, she thought about her time with Campbell. He was sweet and cute, as she had told Michael, and he did have some very impressive qualities. Although she really regretted sleeping with him _now, _at the time it had seemed like the right thing. She'd told herself that she needed to just get over the dark haired ex-spy once and for all. Obviously what they'd had in the past wasn't important enough to him to let go of his other past. Fiona wanted someone who wanted her all the time, not just when they needed a tactical favor or someone to get them through the night.

Campbell had seemed like that someone. Unlike the other men she had dated and sometimes bedded after Michael had disappeared from her life only to drop in again periodically, the paramedic was genuinely kind hearted and caring. He was an EMT because he wanted to help people and when they were together, she was the center of his universe. That kind of dedicated attention had felt so good. Plus, he cooked for her and he really was good in bed, almost as good as her former "Irish" lover.

Fiona swiped a hand over her eyes and turned the tear stained pillow over. As she lie there, she knew what the problem was. She had wanted those things, but she had wanted them from Michael. And what was worst, she had treated her new lover the same way she'd been furious with her old lover for treating her: asking for favors, cancelling on a moment's notice, always putting something else first.

"_You and Mike, I know you have a history. But he's your boyfriend. Not me."_

"_No, he's not. You're –"-_

"_I'm a guy you fool around with and you borrow ambulances from. He's the most important thing in your life_." As if to prove his point, the phone had rung to signal her it was time to proceed with their plans. _"That's him, isn't it? You know, it's okay. I know you're always gonna answer when he calls_."

How had she not seen it before? She'd been kidding herself all along. She clutched the pillow she'd been hugging to her body even tighter. She'd abandoned Campbell at breakfast to help Michael save Jeannie Anderson. When he'd staggered towards them after The ex-spy had deliberately let the pickup he was driving be rammed by a dump truck to save her life and Jeanne's, she had raced across the black top to gather him into her arms. Fiona remembered being at Michael's place at 3 AM, ostensibly to provide tactical support, but as she watched and listened to "Brad" talking to their mark, Lesher, quoting Proverbs 27:17 about iron sharpening iron and so man sharpens another man. He'd said that was them; that he had shown him the way and, although he was talking to the other man, she knew who he meant. _Don't you see I'm not afraid? I'm not afraid anymore. I'm not afraid of death. I'm not afraid of anything. _

But he was sad and he was afraid of something besides death and it was written all over his face what he couldn't say to her directly. She was dating Campbell, she was sleeping with Campbell, but as she'd walked over to the chair and taken his hands, as she'd led him to the bed and they'd lain down together, while she was comforting her best friend, and truly that's all it was, in her heart she was wishing that there had been a way for there to be more between them. Why was it so hard for them to be together?

_No use slaving for me and then saying you want to be cared for: who cares for a slave? If you come back, come back for the sake of good fellowship; for you'll get nothing else._

She remembered the line from Shaw. How Eliza had married Freddie, a pleasant but unremarkable fellow who adored her, but had kept her friendship with Higgins, the man she truly loved, but who would in no way have been marriageable material. _Was that their fate? That she loved him vicariously?_

Fiona slowly rolled off the bed and walked into the bathroom. There was nothing to do until she found out whose child it was. Though she had no idea how she could possibly make a life with Campbell, she knew that she could never ask or expect Michael to raise another man's child. She wasn't even sure she could get Michael to agree to raise his own child, especially if Charlie was in fact his own offspring.

Ms Glenanne pushed all the test strips into the garbage with a sweep of her hand and then disrobed. There was no point in worrying about this any further. She didn't worry, she acted. They had a job to do tomorrow and lying around blubbering about wasn't going to change a thing! She let the water run over her and wash her concerns away. She'd deal with it when she knew what she was dealing with!

()()()()()()

The next day had not gone as planned. Brennan, the sneaky SOB that he was, had strapped an explosive to the kid and they had had to let the arms dealer go. She had played nice with everyone involved until she'd been tasked with getting the bomb off the little boy. Then she'd had an enormous amount of difficulty in restraining herself from going straight from the park to the bastard's condo and returning the device to him personally. Fiona had taken a detour by the doctor's office on her way back to the loft and was requested to return as soon as convenient for additional blood tests for a basis of comparison.

Ms. Glenanne still had time to get back to the loft and campaign to for an armed assault on Brennen's condo before Michael arrived. The next thing she knew, she was getting part of her wish. They were headed to the man's residence, but sadly she was not going to be allowed to blow him up.

They had ridden in silence for the first few miles before Michiael finally broke the stillness with her name and a short apology and she had told him they would talk about it later, that the job came first. She'd been treated to a set of raised eyebrows for that remark. So Fiona reminded him that it was only because there was a child involved that the job took priority over them settling matters between them.

"Charlie's not mine," he added after another moment of quiet.

"She told you that to begin with," Fiona pointed out reasonably. "Although her trust worthiness is not—

"She was just leaving the possibility out there to make sure we helped her."

"We would have helped her regardless. Guess she didn't know you as well as she thought she did." The Irish woman looked at his profile. _How well did _she_ really know him?_ _Every time she thought she knew who he really was, there was another surprise_. "What if he had been?"

"Excuse me?" He didn't return her stare.

"What if Charlie had been yours?"

Michael licked his lips and continued to watch the road ahead of him.

"I don't know," he responded at length. "I'm just—"

"Thankful that he's not?" Fiona finished for him.

"Something like that," the dark haired man agreed. The look on his face as he finally turned to her was soft and gentle, but like he was pleased not to be a father and, even more so, like he was happy not to be Charlie's sire in particular. It confused her and she smiled back out of habit more than sincerity.

_Should she tell him? Tell him what? That he might be the Da and then again it might be Campbell's?_ No, this was not the time for such a discussion. Once Samantha and the chip were gone, once she knew for sure whose child it was she was carrying, then they would talk.

Exchanging barbs with Brennan, while trying to convince him that he needed their help to keep the chip from being stolen back by Ms. Keyes, had been far less painful than the lunch at Carlito's between the three of them. Watching Samantha flirt with Michael had set her teeth on edge. She almost breathed a sigh of relief when Carla showed up to take the ex-spy for another meeting in her long, black limo.

"Oh, Michael's other woman beckons," she sing-songed as he stood up to leave.

"I never actually thought I'd look forward to this. Excuse me…"

"Oh, Michael, you forgot something," Samantha called as he went to pass by her, still seated at the table. The brunette laughed as she handled her former fiancé his wallet back. Then she looked at Ms. Glenanne smugly as the Irishwoman took a long sip of her drink.

"It's just a little game the two of us used to play," she explained as he fled, looking completely uncomfortable with leaving the two of the together, but obviously not wanting to stay and referee.

"It's charming." She had to admit the practicality of keeping up ones skills, but the smirk that went with it made her nauseous. She was starting to wonder if the woman from Mr. Westen's past was actually planning on leaving.

"Are you and Michael-?"  
"No," Fiona said flatly and a beat too quick. She had no intention of discussing the actual status of her relationship to Michael with his ex-fiancée. If Samantha wanted to know where she stood, she could take it up with Michael herself.

"Hmmm…" Clearly Ms. Keyes did not believe her. The waitress brought another round of drinks and the redhead preoccupied herself with pretending to decide on what to eat. When the server left, she looked at the on-time premiere thief of Moscow, trying to decide if she really wanted the answer.

"Go ahead," the pale woman said with a shrug. "Ask me. It's all history, anyway."

"Did he tell you goodbye?"

That was evidently not what she was expecting to hear.

"He never actually said those words," Samantha sighed. "But he made it very clear it was over."

Ms. Glenanne's look obviously implied that she would like more details without having to ask for them.

"The CIA brought me in to do a job for them and he was my contact. I did jobs for them for about a year with him. The last job we did together was in 1997, New Years Eve to be exact. I proposed to him that night." The other woman was lost in thought for a moment. "Then he got re-assigned. I saw him on and off for a few months. Then he was hurt, almost killed from what I could gather… The Agency… well, they're not exactly chatty types unless they want something."

Fiona snorted. She'd had more than enough of being lied to and manipulated by the CIA and its agents.

"He was gone for two years after that." And it was evident Samantha was filling in the blanks as to who Michael had been with while he was on assignment. "He came back, told me he was sorry and it was over. He left and I never saw him again after that."

Fiona did the math in her head. Michael must have done more than say sorry and goodbye if a nine year old Charlie, which the boy obviously wasn't that old, could have potentially been his son. That got her thinking about what Mr. Westen had done after leaving her in Ireland and about the encounters she'd had with the spy over the decade in between his leaving her, and Samantha apparently, and meeting up with him again after the urgent phone call from Jack Tracey's wife, Colleen, in that cheap hotel room.

"Did he tell you goodbye?"

_Which time?_ The petite woman thought sadly, but she was spared having to make a reply when she got a text to meet him back at Brennan's place. They were on to "help" him test the chip.

()()()()() .

There were times when being a man was downright uncomfortable.

Having your mother stay at your place was one of them.

Having your ex-fiancé around your ex-girlfriend was another.

Having the two of them within three feet of you and each other with your mother around who was staying at your place was the trifecta of uncomfortable situations. They were standing at the bar reviewing the next phase of their plan to separate Tyler Brennan from the guidance chip at the airport hangar he had chosen to conduct the sale of said stolen technology. They had to get it away from Brennan and back where it belonged or Charlie was facing growing up in a hut in Nicaragua.

"We're going to have a lot of eyes on us, but we might be able to sneak in some special construction materials," he concluded, pleased that this was going so smoothly despite the potential for trouble.

"Like we did in Dublin," she smiled warmly, memories of liberating supplies from the demolition company and other things clearly on her face.

"Yeah…" he agreed with a grin.

"She talking about that thing you and I did in St Peterburg?" Samantha cut in.

"Yeah…" Michael confirmed, his manhood remembered it as well as he did, until the shift in the atmosphere left both of them longing for an exit strategy. This was trouble on the horizon for sure.

"I should take this," he advised before retreating to the balcony. It was one of the rare times he was grateful for a cell phone interruption.

"And I'm gonna leave... _now_."

Fiona apparently could only take so much of Ms. Keyes' attempts to reintegrate herself into Michael's life. He had noticed it, but did his best to ignore it as much as possible. His mother's presence in the loft, however uncomfortable, had saved him for a far worse fate: Samantha's renewed interest in _them_.

"_Well, you are an enigma wrapped in a schizophrenic, aren't you, sport? First, you don't shoot at me and then you set up a little firing squad." _The voice on the phone sounded as though its owner was poolside.

Dealing with Victor was almost a pleasure compared to be caught in the middle of three women, all of whom seemed intent on getting his attention one way or another.

"I needed help selling a cover ID, nothing personal."

The operative laughed, sounding slightly unhinged. "_Oh, we do have some fun, don't we? I really do wanna get together. How soon can we do this?"_

"If you give me until Friday, I think I've got a way to make sure guns stay out of the equation."

Michael was sure he'd rather have Mr. Steckler-Epps take another shot at him than have to face the estrogen squad. He had half a thought about sneaking off to see Fiona, but realized that he needed to keep an eye on his mother and Samantha. He could already hear them talking about him inside the loft.

How had an operative of his caliber ended up eavesdropping on his mom and ex-fiancé in his own home in order to gather enough intel to know whether or not it was safe to come into the room? He sighed.

()()()()

It was dark by the time he'd gotten back to the loft that next day. Thanks to Sam's quick improvising, they had blown the sale and gotten the chip off Brennan, who had threatened to hunt Michael down and kill him if the ex-spy didn't return said stolen tech before said stuff was discovered missing, and thanks to Samantha's skills in the art of acquisitions, the brains for the UAV drones was back in its place like it had never left home. Ms. Keyes was now on her way back to Chicago to reclaim her son and get out of the high-end burglary business, or so he'd told her to do. Whether she did was another matter.

His attention diverged onto many topics on his drive back to the loft from the airport, but they all had one focal point, or basis for comparison. It had been easy working with Samantha again. They had fallen back into the rhyme established in their prior jobs, even though it had been a decade since he'd worked with her, their banter had changed little over that time. But the scripted nature of their work conversations really stood out now that he'd had a taste of living the life of Riley, as it were, in Ireland.

There was no doubt that as she'd shinnied out of her clothes and into her bunny suit for the clean room that the pale brunette was still _attractive_, but there was no _attraction_ for him other than the visual any man would appreciate and the vague echoes of relations past. Even when she had kissed him goodbye, the feelings were strictly a slight sense of nostalgia and a moment of being pleased that at least she didn't hate him for what he had done. She would've had every right to do so and he'd accepted that.

But Samantha's attempts to re-engage him had fallen flat. The thief had a child and a life that should no longer involve being in the trade. It was in her, and her son's, best interest to leave that profession and settle down to something more stable, or at least less dangerous. She really needed to put her boy first.

So, as he walked into the loft and he acknowledged his mom asleep on his bed, his attention quickly drawn toward the real reason that Samantha Keyes no longer had any meaning in his life. The petite woman was leaning against the doorframe that led onto the balcony, looking breathtaking underneath the lunar illumination that reflected off her skin as well as her white tank top and shorts.

"Did it go alright?" she called as Michael walked towards her, pausing momentarily to pull the covers up higher over his mother's supposedly slumbering form. He was pretty sure Madeline was awake.

"Yeah, it's over now," he agreed as he came along side her, unbuttoning his sleeves as he went.

"Well it's late. I should go." Fiona seemed in a hurry to leave.

"Wait."

The Irish woman sighed. "Whatever you're gonna say, it's-it's in the past."

Her tone was dismissive, but her expression plainly was not, even in the low light. It was almost as if she knew what he was going to tell her already.

"It is and it isn't, Fi." He fiddled with the buttons at his wrists and stared out at the moon while he spoke. "Sam and I worked because she was like me. She didn't mind that my job was lying to people. She loved it. She did the same thing. We lied to each other all the time too. It was just another game with her. It made being with her easy. And then I met you."

His voice dropped the light airy tone and became serious. "It was- it was different. It was _never_ easy. You knew a part of me she never did," Michael looked at her then and smiled softly. Her eyes were wide with wonder, as if she couldn't believe what she was hearing.

"The part of me that no one knows but you," he admitted. "I wanted to take you with me when I left Ireland." Her lover reached out and laid his large palm along her face. "I wanted you to come with me, but your brothers and CIA wouldn't allow it. I left because I thought if I stayed that you'd be killed."

Those blue green eyes of hers were bright with unshed tears that sparkled in the moonlight.

"And then I left her because you don't marry someone when you love somebody else."

He leaned in to kiss her then and she melted into his embrace. Tiny rivlets of moisture ran along his cheeks falling from hers and her arms snaked up his back and caressed his shoulder blades. The kiss became more demanding and the embrace more ardent as they forgot everything and everyone.

Until Madeline rolled over and coughed, that is.

Fiona laughed lightly and gave him a watery smile. "Come on outside," she urged. "I need to tell you something in private," finishing on a whisper as she leaned in close to his ear.

Curiosity piqued, they slipped out the door and onto the balcony, closing the wooden barriers behind them securely. He gestured towards the recently acquired pair of loungers on the concrete deck. They perched of the ends of each of them, facing each other, knees touching as he took her trembling hands into his own larger ones and laid their entwined digits on top of their legs.

"What's going on, Fi?" he asked with a nervous chuckle. "Why are you shaking?"

"I'm not sure you're ready to hear what I have to say...and I'm not sure I'm ready to say it."

"Then I'm guessing it doesn't fire, explode or go from zero to a hundred in less than sixty seconds, but I'm sure we can deal with whatever it is."

"Do you remember how you felt when you thought Charlie might be your son?"

Well, that wasn't what he was expecting. He knew she'd noticed Samantha flirting with him, but he assumed she had also seen him ignoring her. He thought the fact that the brunette had gone and he was still here with her said everything that needed to be discussed on that topic.

"Yes, but he wasn't," and Michael let out another breath of relief that he hadn't abandoned a child he'd know nothing about. "She's gone and she's not coming back."

"That's not the point, Michael," she huffed a bit, her nerves making her irritable. "What would you have done if you'd found out that Charlie was yours?"

"Whatever I could, I suppose…" he trailed off. "It would have been too dangerous for me to be around him right now with Victor in the wind and Carla and her organization breathing down my neck."

For a hypothetical situation, Fiona was getting awfully upset. She squeezed his hands firmly and locked her jaw before gritting out through clenched teeth, "So you'd just turn your back on him then?"

"No, Fi, no… I would make sure he was protected, as safe as he could be."

She tried to stand up and pull her hands from his grasp, but he wouldn't allow it. As he got to his feet, it all coalesced in his mind… her fatigue, her wariness around him, the overly emotional, even for her, response to things, her continual questions about his ex-fiancé's child and her jealousy of Samantha.

_Her nearly collapsing in front of him in Bayfront Park the day he'd confessed about his engagement._

Michael sucked in a breath between his teeth and asked in a low voice, "How long have you known?"

"For a little while now…" she confessed, staring at their joined hands which were both shaking now.

He released her hands and put his two palms to either side of her face, tilting her head up and forcing their eyes to meet.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he pleaded, a myriad of emotions in his voice.

Tears started to spill from her eyes and onto his fingers.

"Because of the job… because of Samantha… because of Charlie…because I didn't know who…"

It took another minute to hear what she wasn't saying

"oh, Fiona…"

The pain in her voice had been more than he could take. The disappointment that she'd let herself carry the burden all alone, the anger at himself for the grief that he had caused her so that she thought she couldn't be honest with him about something like this because he'd pushed her away, time and again.

But she very plainly had misinterpreted his feelings when she jerked away from him, almost stumbling over the lounge chair as she'd tried to back away from him, angry water now flowing down her face.

"Do you think I wanted to be with him? Do you think I ever wanted to be with _any_ of them? _You left me, Michael!_ You're always leaving me behind. You say you wouldn't marry Samantha because you loved me, but you left without a word and you left her, too. How was I going to tell you about your baby, when I didn't even know if it _was your baby_? Because I was with him, because you didn't want me for anything but tactical support and because you shove me away every time we get close to—"

The Irish woman stopped talking and crying simultaneously and swung at him as hard as she could.

Fortunately for Michael, he had decades of practice sparring with her and knew what was coming. He captured her flying fist and spun her around into a tight embrace, just as he had the day he'd come back from his first assignment, standing below the stairs and trying to wash up Sam's prized Cadillac.

"Let go of me!" she demanded, struggling against his grip, but not yet lashing out or kicking.

"No, Fi, no…" He held her even tighter. "Fi…Fiona…listen to me, Fi… Fiona Glenanne! Listen to me!"

All the fight went out of her in an instant and she sagged against him. "It's your baby, Michael," she sobbed, "It's your baby and it doesn't matter because you don't want—"

"I don't care whose baby it is. I love _you_, Fiona Glenanne, and I want to be _with you_ and I'm sorry for what I've put you through over the years. I'm sorry I couldn't just be Michael McBride for you and I'm sorry I couldn't take you with me then. And I'm sorry it took me thinking you had died to realize that."

He used his superior height and strength to pick her up off the ground enough to move back over to the lounger and straddle it before sinking down into the padding with not a lot of grace. As he settled her against his body, he shifted until her legs were laid out on the deck chair between his and her upper body was settled against his chest, her head lay against his shoulder and tucked underneath his chin.

Fiona continued to sniffle quietly while he held her. "What are we going to do now?"

He thought about his lecture earlier in the day to Samantha about putting Charlie's welfare first.

"We'll figure out the rest of it tomorrow," he said quietly. "Tonight is just you and me."

And so it was, as they lie wrapped in each other's embrace underneath the moonlight that bathed the Miami sky until the sun came up.

()()()()()()()

For all the times that she had berated Michael for wanting to engage Mr. Steckler-Epps instead of putting a bullet in him, Fiona was so very grateful he hadn't listened to her as the other burned spy in her life at the moment had stepped up and pushed her out of harm's way.

And he had taken the bullet, or rather bullets, for her instead.

As she lie trapped under his wounded body, her head aching where the back of her skull had cracked onto the boat deck, she felt assured that Victor would have taken the tradeoff of dying for the opportunity to take out Carla in a blaze of up close and personal gunfire.

"Finally…" he whispered in her ear, a true sense of satisfaction in his last words.

She could hear Mr. Westen's panicked shouts, but she couldn't get the air necessary to answer him and she sort of drifted in a haze while her head swam and the weight of her one-time enemy held her down.

Three days earlier, she had woken up in a similar fog, feeling utterly drained enough to need the sleep, but barely comfortable enough to really get any as she had found herself alone on the couch in the upper landing of the loft. She'd had a vague memory then of Michael carrying her up there sometime in the early morning hours after spending the night with him in an lounger out on the balcony.

She'd heard an electronic buzzing and then heard him yelp in pain. _Working on that camera taser…_

Madeline's voice and then her son's had washed over her briefly and then on past ...

_I have a meeting to get to. If it goes well, you can go home… _

_I-I know I shouldn't have been eavesdropping last night…._

_I'm scared, Mom. I don't know what to do…._

_What you always do, honey, you do the right thing…._

Had she been conscious enough at the time to know the ex-spy had left to go to the meeting he had set up with the psychopathic former operative in the men's bathroom of Miami City Hall, she probably would have been outraged that he had gone off without back-up again.

As it was though all the emotional strain she'd been under had rewarded her with an unusually long and deep sleep once she had been relocated to his bed under the watchful eye of Madeline Westen. When his mother had awoken her favorite daughter to let her know that Sam was waiting for her at an abandoned concrete plant out in the wilds of western Dade County, she had left the loft feeling better than she had in weeks. She was more than ready for her assignment to guard Victor to make sure he stayed inside his improvised prison cell while Mr Westen was off meeting the face of the organization.

And while she had never thought she would have sympathy for the man who had tried to kill Michael repeatedly, she had found herself being drawn in by what had happened to him. Of course, she hadn't believed the story, however plausible, of a bad op, a murdered family and a burn notice, only to discover that Carla's had been responsible for the slaughter of Victor's family as part of her recruiting techniques.

After she had pelted him with a couple bean bag rounds to ensure their captive's compliance, she and Michael had made their way onto his booby-trapped boat at the end of Randall Key and had found the evidence which turned her opinion about the other burned spy and escalated the desire to shoot Carla.

_Spies are supposed to travel light with nothing that could identify them. Some do, but most find that staying sane requires staying connected to something that reminds them why they do what they do. Pictures are particularly dangerous to carry unless the people in them are already dead. _

"_Michael, his little boy was only four. Who knew you could feel this bad for a psychopath on the edge of sanity?" she said as she flipped through the pictures of the Steckler-Epps family who were no more. That and a steady diet of spam and Captain Crunch would be enough to send anyone over the brink…_

"_People don't get there on their own, Fi," he reminded her gently. "Being under Carla's thumb, it's a strain. Having everyone turn their back on you, treating you like your some kind of monster for—" _

"_You're not a monster, Michael," she countered, taking his hand firmly. "You've done all right."_

"_Only because I've had you and Sam to help me, because I -I never lost- everyone I cared about."_

He had pulled her to her feet and wrapped her in a tight embrace. Fiona had enfolded his waist in her arms and laid her cheek over his thudding heart.

"_This can't be us, Fi. I couldn't stand it if something happened to you, to the baby…" He squeezed her tighter. "You shouldn't be here. You should take my mom and go—"_

"_Michael," she said patiently, "Victor's family was killed because they couldn't take care of themselves and he wasn't there to protect them, he was gone on a mission. I can take care of meself and I am better off with you around to watch my back than I am alone with your mom." She reached up and kissed the underside of his jaw near his ear. "And you need me to watch your back, too. That's what Victor didn't have, that's what made him what he is today. Now, no more talk about running away."_

And though he'd sent her off to go her meeting instead of sticking together like they had discussed, in the end, she'd had to agree with his tactics. As it turned out, they had needed every bit of the C-4, det cord and extra weapons she had picked up that day. Just a reminder of what happened when people crossed her was all she needed to get better prices on the ordinance than a fire sale at Bloomingdale's.

Mining the road to blow at strategic intervals just as she had done on that driveway past an abandoned factory back in Belfast where they had first met as operatives had her feeling a bit nostalgic as well as super confident. She'd decided she was past accepting Victor and actually starting to like him as he had stared at her in wonder and demanded to know where Michael had met her after that brilliant demonstration of her explosives expertise. She liked a man that could appreciate a quality detonation.

It had been his agreement with Michael over how best to take on their handler and hold the higher up's at bay that'd had her questioning the sanity of both the burned spies as they'd stood in a little patch of woods over looking Victor's super secret stash, a false high voltage box on a lonely looking utility pole.

"_Blackmail? That's the idea? We're doing all this so we can throw some paper work at Carla?"_

"_It's the smart play here. We're outgunned," Mr. Westen pointed out._

"_We'll get bigger guns. I can't believe what I'm hearing. I saw what she did to you and your family," she rounded on Victor. "If the file is so great, then why didn't you use it before?_

"_This isn't just about her. I want the guys who call the shots. The file was just in case, enough to force her to back off. If this was just about putting a bullet in Carla, it would have been over a long time ago._

"_Still, putting a bullet in Carla sounds awfully good," Fiona declared._

"_I like the way you think," Victor concurred. "But if comes to that, you'll have to get in line."_

But it had come to that. As her vision started to clear, she saw the bright blue skies over the Gulf of Mexico and she whispered her thanks to the man who could no longer hear her, the one who had insisted, along with Michael, that she take the only bullet proof vest on the boat and don it underneath one of his shirts, the man who had stood up for her when Michael had tried to leave her for her safety.

"_Carla's entire work history…This is pretty damming stuff. You think you can play this card?" _

_Michael'd had the file they had succeeded in snatching right out from under the organization's nose, turning the pages he had laid out on the hood of her Saab where they had parked down by the docks._

"_When we get back to my boat I've got the codes and com lines to go above her head," the older man answered the dark haired ex-spy. "If she knows I can get to them with this, she'll have to back off fast."_

"_Then we get out of town, maybe to Cuba."_

"_Fabulous… great music…. Lots of sexy unemployed men…" she smiled at the pair of them. _

"_Fi, can I talk to you for a sec.?" He took hold of her arm and started to lead her away._

"_I'm not invited to Cuba?" She planted her feet and refused to move, glaring at him and resisting the urge to knock the daylights out of him. "Tell me, Michael, exactly how many contacts do you have in the gun running community? In the black market? In Cuba? How many people can get you a boat with a phone call? How do you plan on calling for back-up in the middle of the Gulf?"_

"_Fi, please, I need you to—"But the other burned spy had cut him off, laying a hand on his shoulder._

"_I don't know what's going on in that pretty little head of yours, sport, but you are crazier than I am to leave this little filly in the barn, especially when Carla's just going to go and blow up the barn."_

"_They're gonna find us with all they have," Michael protested._

"_All the more reason to have her around," Victor countered. "We get Carla to follow us out to sea and she'll spend all her resources trying to run us down before Management gets wind of what's going on."_

"_Sam's already got your Mom stashed in Orlando, Michael. Do you really want me on the Florida Turnpike by myself chasing after them with Carla's minions running around?"_

And Mr. Westen hadn't been able to argue with that logic. After a couple of quick phone calls and some serious firepower loaded onto the boat, they had departed Randall Key in no short amount of time before the murderous woman in question had turned up the assault vehicles and helicopters.

Fiona smiled as she heard Michael's footsteps rushing towards her on the deck upon which she lie.

She smiled at the memory of getting to use an RPG again. It had been a long time and she had never had the opportunity to shoot down a chopper with one, though she had wanted to many times. Watching Carla's only means of tracking go down in a fiery blaze into the ocean had been most gratifying.

"Fi, can you hear me?" Dread had hitched his voice up an octave. "Fi, Fiona, are you alright? Fi?"

The body of Mr. Steckler-Epps was rolled off of her none-too-gently and Michael had her in his arms.

"Jesus, Fi, at that caliber, you still could have— oh my God," he moaned as he saw all the blood.

"Don't worry. It's his. Victor saved me," she said dreamily, still a little disoriented. "Carla surprised me coming out of the hole, but he got in front of me and he shot her… more than once…"

Fiona turned her head as much as she could in his embrace. The former guerilla could see the mass of blonde hair soaking up the carnage of Carla's ruined head, the rest of the corpse out of view.

She heard him suck in a breath as he was pulling the shirt that covered the vest off. "That was too close. The impact could- I gotta get you outta here now!"

He sat her up and ripped the vest off her and tossed it over board. Fiona didn't hear a splash and shook her head, trying to get her bearings. The two boats that had pursued them were in ruins. One was on fire and the other had blood and bullet holes all over it, which was causing it to slowly take on water.

He loaded her into the Zodiac as carefully as he could before flying away from the scene. The Irish woman remembered admiring the explosion as Victor's boat blew into a million pieces and sent a cloud of flames and smoke into the air. It was a fitting end to the day's efforts.

()()()()()()()

"You're sure she's okay?" he demanded.

"Your wife and child are going to be fine, Mr. Finley… don't worry. As long as she rests properly and has no more excitement, the pregnancy should progress as normal."

"She's gonna be fine, Peter…"

Michael blew out a long breathe and hung his head as Sam's large hand landed on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry about my brother here, Dr. Zedillo. Sometimes he gets excited and forgets his manners."

"No, it is fine. Please, call me Pilar. It is good to see a man so concerned for his family."

She handed a card to Michael as he raised his head and reached out to shake her hand.

"You may call me any time, Mr. Finley, if you have any questions. She will be fine as long as you don't take any more fishing trips." the dark haired beauty smiled at him warmly. "And you, too, Senor Charles, you should be talking your brother into more quiet pursuits."

"I think you can count on that," Sam agreed. "Chuck and Peter Finley, land lubbers."

"Thank you, doctor," the dark haired ex-spy said with complete sincerity and turned to follow her down the corridor to where Fiona was dressing. The slender Mexican woman kept walking and Michael hesitated outside the door, listening for a moment. Then he knocked.

"You decent, Charlotte?" he called out.

"She's never decent," Sam chuckled.

"I heard that!" There was more shuffling in the room and then the door opened. A nurse stood to one side and let them in before departing. Fiona was sitting on the small hospital bed in an over sized blue sundress, her long auburn hair in braids, her feet bare and a pair of sandals on the floor beside the bed.

Michael had never seen a more beautiful sight in his entire life.

"Charlotte Finely," she snipped as the pair approached the bed. "Really?"

"You're just lucky I had those on hand and ready to go on short notice, sister. Just imagine what I could come up with if I'd really had time to work on it," he laughed at her pique.

"Is my mom okay?" Michael queried, moving to stand next to 'Mrs. Finely' and then laying an arm around her shoulder. "Did she get off to South Carolina okay?"

"Your ma's in the happy embrace of her sister, Jill. She should be fine. Her nephew made federal marshal last month. I don't they're gonna wanna risk that kind of exposure just for revenge, especially now that Carla's sleepin' with the fishes and they've gotten a look at her play book. I mean, hell, they blew up your mom's house for chris' sakes, there's not a lot of damage left to do. "

"With a little help from her friends," Fiona smirked.

"Yeah, well," Mr Axe laughed. "Who knew you could get so much mileage out of gun powder and non dairy creamer. She was pissed at you about having to replace everything until her sister reminded her of all the shopping she gets to do now. The insurance money should keep her in cigarettes for a while."

"Are you sure you're okay?" Michael asked softly, rubbing her arm as he inquired about her health. "You could have had a miscarriage from the impact of falling on the boat deck and someone falling on you-."

"I'm fine. The doctor says I just have to take it easy and let my body heal." She petted his hand. "We have tough DNA… It'll be fine."

"So, you two… about to be married and a kid on the way… man, that calls for a mojito, or ten actually!"

"Did your Coast Guard buddies verify the wreckage?" Michael asked, never quite taking his eyes off her.

"Yep, as much as they could, that is. Victor's boat sank on its own. Carla's clean-up crew made sure the other two joined it at the bottom of ocean. Made sure none of the bodies were going to come floating up again either. No, I'd say you were in the clear. Even if they think you're alive, I don't think they're going to come nosing around looking for ya, brother. You were just too much damned trouble. But I'd stay outta Miami, well, actually the States period, for now. "

Mr Westen extended his hand. "Thanks for letting me join the Finley family,"

"Hey, any time, easy peasy. Maybe we can have a Finley family reunion when the little one comes along. Whatcha say, Charlotte? That work for you?"

"You're not staying?" she asked.

"Naw, thought I might spend a couple weeks fishing in Cancun and see what my retired FBI buddies know and then maybe pay a visit to Virge in the Bahamas."

Then Sam saw the look on Michael's face.

"Of course, I might have to hang out around here for awhile and make sure Little Miss Commando here stays out of trouble and follows doctor's orders."

"Hrmph," she grumbled, but Fiona didn't tell him to get lost either. "Great, just what I need, my new house smelling like Old Spice and cheap cigars."

"Yeah, why don't we go take a look," Sam suggested. "Let's see what Peter Finley's trust fund bought!"

Michael helped Fiona to her feet and held her hand while she slipped her shoes on. He held onto her hand, kissing her lightly on the lips and then on the forehead before turning to go.

"She's made of tougher stuff than that, Petey. She's not gonna break."

"I don't think I'll ever get used to that," Michael remarked, but happy that his best friend would be around awhile longer to help him try.

Jojo and Trini Delaney were waiting for them outside the clinc. The dark woman wasted no time in rushing to Fiona's side and giving her a big hug. Michael and Sam both shook Jojo's hand and then they all turned towards that large Land Rover parked next to the Zedillo's clinic.

"Thanks for everything, both of you," Mr. Westen said gratefully as he gave his lady a leg up into the SUV, his hands lingering on her waist longer than necessary.

"Save that for the honeymoon, Mr. _Finley_," Sam teased.

"Anything for you, Charlotte," Trini chimed in with a smile. "Isn't that right, Jojo?"

"Anything she needs," Mr. Delaney agreed.

It wasn't long before the five of them were standing at the gate of the hacienda which Jojo had sold to the newlywed's through multiple shell companies and much financial magic on the part of their friend in creative finance, Mr. Barry Burkowski. The place was in reasonable shape for having an absentee owner up to that point. It stood on the cliff, a stone's throw from the Delaney household on Isla Muejers. The land behind the house looked fertile and the out structures behind the place could double for a barn, a workshop or both.

"Do ya like it, girl?" her gunrunner friend asked with a broad smile.

"I do," she breathed and then turned to the man holding her hand. "Do you like it?"

She urged him forward, tugging on his arm until they were standing a short distance away from the others in front of the threshold of their new home.

"I was expecting something more like your farm back home," he smiled, clearly teasing her. He pressed a kiss on top of her head. "But as long as you're happy, you can fill it with all the livestock you like…"

"Careful, Peter Finley," the redhead warned. "I can see a yard full of puppies and kittens and geese and chickens and maybe a horse or two." She leaned into his ear and whispered, "And then we'll teach the children to ride and shoot at the same time. It takes real skill to shoot on the move, you know."

"A whole brood of little Celtic warriors on horseback with P90's on their backs?" he whispered back. "I'm not sure I'm ready for more than one gun toting baby, Mrs. Finley…"

"One day at a time, Mr. Finley. Who knows what tomorrow will bring?"

_Fin_


	17. 201 Free to be You and Me

**A/N: **_We are sorry for the delay in beginning this last story in the PKGTB series. RL has been hectic for us both in the recent weeks. The M-rated companion piece to the _301 AU Enemy of My Enemy_ should be finished and ready for posting on Friday. Again we are sorry for the delay, but we are trying to make this _Reconnecting_ the best one we can. All I will say at the moment is it has to be one of the hottest pieces either Purdys Pal or Jedi Skysinger has ever posted._

_Now after the apologies comes the all the thank yous for the many reviews for _Enemy of My Enemy_. We appreciate each and every one and you all gave us such a boost with all your lovely comments for what has to be our most romantic chapters._

_Thanks as well go out to Amanda Hawthorn and DaisyDay for being such wonderful friends and to all the girls on FB & Twitter. You are the best._

_And finally onto this last AU story in the series._ Free to be You & Me, _begins in the final moments of _S1.13 Loose Ends_. There will be romance, but you will have to bear with us as we have to get through all the action of _S1.13 & S2.01_._

_#BNClub is watching S1E6 Unpaid Debts 9 PM EDT 10/24 & live tweeting! Join us if you can. Let's make sure we keep #burnnotice trending on Thursdays & let's show them what #burners can do!_

_Here we go..._

**PUPPIES, KITTENS & GUN TOTING BABIES.**

**2.01 – Free to be You & Me  
**

_An alternate S2 premiere following on from 1.12 – Loose Ends._

_()()()()()()()()  
_

_He was leaving her and, like a fool, she was helping him on his way...again..._

As quick as a cat, Fiona climbed up the metal ladder which led up onto the roof of an old abandoned warehouse close to the Miami River. Reaching the top, she walked confidently over the roof of the crumbling building, looking for the best spot to set up her sniper perch.

_She supposed she should be grateful that at least this time he was being so up front about where she stood on his list of priorities._

Pursing her lips, she peered down from her chosen position, which gave her a clear view of the old rusted up barge where Sam Axe was being held by a heroin importer by the name of Glen Harrick. Next to the barge on the dock were two large black SUVs surrounded by a half dozen men who all looked like they had read one too many copies of Soldier of Fortune; muscle bound, carrying an impressive amount of weaponry and dressed in a loose uniform of laced boots, cargo pants and vest tops.

Kneeling down, she unzipped her rifle case and pulled out her Hecate 2, a rifle she had owned for over ten years. It had been a gift from a former lover and about the only thing she had kept from that relationship, except for a deep sorrow for wasting five years of her life. Fleeting thoughts of former lovers brought her mind back to Michael and his damned obsession.

_Why couldn't he just accept he was no longer wanted by his government and get on with his life? Hadn't they had fun so far? They had certainly helped a lot of people. It surprised her how much she had liked doing that; helping the little guy, the ones who couldn't help themselves. Her year in Miami had changed her so much, why not him? He had friends now, or at least a friend in Sam Axe, he was getting on with his family. What more did he need?_

As her thoughts centered on her lover's decision to go off with the people who had destroyed his life, her hands dealt with the task of getting her weapon ready for use while her eyes kept watch on the activity taking place on and around the barge.

Raising the deadly weapon, she peered through the scope, thinking how easy it would be to pick the majority of the mercenaries off with the rifle and then send one of the prepared-for-use pieces of C4 she had with her down to finish off the remaining men. But, of course, that plan would probably get Sam Axe killed.

_Sam Axe, former SEAL commander, a man who a year ago she would have cheerfully killed and done it with a smile on her face… But not now… now she had gotten to know him. Now only after he had been taken by a ruthless team made up of ex-Special Forces and mercenaries did she realize she thought of him as a friend too._

All but a couple or so of the men hanging around near the barge were climbing into the SUVs and preparing to leave. Keeping watch through her rifle scope, she brought out her cell phone and pressed one on the speed dial.

"It looks like they're leaving a three man team on the boat," she told the man on the other end of the call.

"I'm off to crash the party," he replied and then hung up.

Placing the phone down at her side, she shifted her body until she found a position she could hold for as long as she had to. Her eyes never strayed from the men moving about on the deck. If one of them moved into a position where they might spot Michael's underwater approach, she centered her sights on him.

_Why was nothing straight forward with Michael? _She sighed._ They could have gotten Sam back hours ago if they had gone with her spur of the moment plan of just taking what they had in the trunk of the Charger and gone in shooting._

_It was the way they would have done it back in Belfast. Michael McBride had possessed a sense of style which had made him her type of man. This Michael Westen was far too cautious for her liking. That was except concerning his own safety. Who was going to watch his back after today? Damn him, he needed his own team… he needed her!_

"_I'm off to crash the party," could very well turn out to be his last words to her if things went wrong._

She hardened her heart and concentrated on the job at hand. _He had made it very plain this was what he wanted._

_At least this time they had gotten to say goodby__e. At least this time, __she wasn't going to wake from a drugged sleep at a loss as to what had happened. This time she knew he had willingly chosen something other than her. She wanted to hate him for it, but she couldn't do it._

Fiona narrowed her eyes as she noted a disturbance in the water under the gangplank. Her finger slid inside the trigger guard, lightly caressing the trigger as she prepared to shoot anybody who looked over the side. Moments later, everything stilled and she relaxed slightly. The sticky bomb they had made together was now in place and ready to surprise the bad guys as soon as they attempted to leave the vessel.

_She missed their days in Ireland. She wanted her wild Irishman McBride back, but it seemed he had been swallowed up by Michael Westen. Biting down on her lip, she couldn't stop the wistful smile breaking through as she remembered how a short while ago they had said goodbye in the shower, with water tumbling down over them and washing away her tears._

She tightened her grip on her rifle as her thoughts went to where his hands had gone over her wet slick skin and the way her own hands had glided over the planes of his muscular chest and abdomen.

A shot rang out, echoing up from the depth of the barge, bringing her thoughts instantly back to present.

"_Michael!"_

All other thoughts scattered as her attention zeroed in on the men on deck, who were rushing towards the single hatch which led into the bowels of the barge.

She sent two shots ricocheting off the door frame, causing the two mercenaries closest to back off as splinters of metal flew towards them. The third man, a heavy set blond all tattoos and muscles, ran forward and she cut him off by taking a more difficult shot, aiming the bullet at the metal railing close to where his hand was about to land.

She grinned as she held all three at bay without hitting any of them, giving herself points for difficulty of the shot... _This was fun..._Reaching for her phone, she dialed in a number while making sure her targets stayed out of the fight that was undoubtedly happening below deck.

Suddenly, the former SEAL burst out onto deck followed closely by the burned spy, the two men running like the hounds of hell were on their tails. She fired a few more shots at the mercs to keep them back and then, as Michael's feet cleared the gangplank, she pressed the _send_ key and smiled happily as the gangplank and a good part of the deck was blown to kingdom come.

She pointedly kept her eyes trained on the barge, refusing to watch as Michael and Sam jumped into Sam's Cadillac and drove away at top speed. He was gone and, all of a sudden, she felt very much alone.

Packing away her gun, she fought back the urge to weep. _Where the hell was that coming from? She hadn't cried, or even felt the need to cry, since... Since Michael left her the very first time._

With her weapon packed away, and the sound of sirens in the distance, she got to her feet. Her heart suddenly leapt when her cell phone began to ring. _Had he finally come to his senses? _She frowned when she saw an unknown number.

"Fiona?" Madeline's panicked voice came through loud and clear along with the sound of squealing tires and the unmistakable sound of gun fire. "Oh thank god, you answered... Michael said not to use the phones, but we need - we need help. Michael's safe phone isn't working an' …NATE! Oh my god!"

"Madeline, what's happening?" Fiona cut off the other woman's panicked rambling, all thoughts of Michael gone from her head as she made her way to the ladder to take her back to the ground.

"Some men are chasing us! We can't get away… Nate is..."

"Hey, Fiona?" Nate's voice came on the line. "Er, I could really use some help here... Or some advice... I've two cars on my ass and they're trying to shoot out the tires and run us off the road."

"Where are you, which way are you traveling?" Fiona was all business. Slinging the rifle over her shoulder, she held the phone to her ear by pressing it between her cheek and shoulder as she climbed down from the building as fast as she could.

"We were heading towards Fort Lauderdale, but these guys were tailing us, so I kept going north… I got all the way to Palm Beach Gardens. I thought I lost them. But as soon as I got to the Turnpike and headed back south, they came outta nowhere and started shooting!"

"Where are you?" she repeated with a little more force.

"I got off at Okeechobee Road and now I'm headed down State Road 7… I thought I lost them a couple of subdivisions ago, but now I'm not so sure."

As soon as her feet hit the ground, she was off and running, crossing over a patch of wasteland until she reached the road and the strip mall beyond the bridge.

"Nate, get back on the Turnpike. Go south as fast as you can without getting yourselves killed. They're not going to risk getting stopped by the Highway Patrol. Then I need you to get onto the Sawgrass Expressway and keep heading south. Do you understand?"

Striding along the pavement, she searched for just the right vehicle. A high powered sports motorbike with the crash helmet dangling off the handle bars caught her attention. It was perfect for her needs.

"Nate?" she snapped when she had got no answer to her suggestion.

"Sorry, I thought... Oh, dammit, I thought I'd lost them... Yeah, I can do that, if I can-"

The owner of the motorbike had to be inside the store. She spotted a man dressed all in fancy racing leathers standing in line for the cashier.

"Get off at Atlantic Boulevard. You'll see me soon. Whatever you do, go fast and don't stop." She hung up and pushed her phone into her pocket.

The owner of her chosen form of transport was moving closer to the front of the line as she pulled on the crash helmet and then used the blade of a knife to jimmy the ignition.

Climbing astride the powerful machine, she settled her rifle bag so the bottom was clear of the seat and then pressed the button on the handlebars, which caused the engine to roar to life. By the time the owner of the motorcycle was running out of the store shouting for her stop, Fiona was half way down the street, rapidly going through the gears.

Weaving in and out of the late afternoon traffic, Fiona broke more than a few traffic laws as she increased the speed of the bike. But none of that mattered to her, as all of her concentration was on getting to Michael's mother and brother as fast as she could.

She was all the way on the west side of Fort Lauderdale, roaring down West Atlantic Boulevard when she eased back on the throttle and eventually came to a stop on the other side of the entrance cum exit ramp for the Sawgrass Expressway. She eased the bike through the open lot on the other side of the roadway made of compacted sand and rock and then on across the access bridge, which was used by the Fish & Game Commission and various other water management agencies, and then onto the road that ran parallel to a wide drainage canal.

Pulling off the crash helmet, she got back onto her phone. It had been not quite an hour since she had last spoken to Nate and she was now silently praying that both he and his mother were still alive.

"Fiona! Oh!" Madeline's breathy tones answer as soon as Fiona dialed the number.

"Madeline, put the phone on loud speaker." Fiona gave the blonde a second to carry out her command. "Nate, where are you?"

"I'm on the Sawgrass Expressway, just like you told me. They're just following us, now but they've got a fricking chopper as well an' I'm not going to lose them, Fiona. I think they're just waiting for us to run outta gas or give up."

"Don't stop now, Nate. Get off at Atlantic Boulevard and then cut through the open lot there on your right at the end of the ramp. You go over the bridge and get on the road next to the canal and keep going. Whatever you see or hear, don't stop. I know what I'm doing and you'll only get in my way. I'll catch up to you when it's all over."

"I was aiming for a motel on Bayshore Drive, shall I -"

"Yes, Nate. If I don't catch up with you, ditch the Charger somewhere and take a different car. I've got to go now."

She looked down at the phone and wondered briefly what Michael was doing. _He should be here with me, protecting his family... Instead he's gone off to meet with the very people who are trying to kill or capture them._

With her anger growing, Fiona pocketed her cell and pulled the crash helmet back on. _If Michael was too wrapped up in his own life to look after his own mother, she guessed it was up to her to show these people what happened when you messed with somebody under the protection of Fiona Glenanne._

Two miles down, she found what she was looking for. On that stretch of straight road, there was nothing but the occasional bush or tree to hide her amongst all the open land on either side of the deep canal that ran alongside the dirt road. Leaving the bike behind one of the few bushes along the way, she knelt down and opened her rifle case. Setting up the gun, she then gathered up the C4 charges she had brought with her and set them up along the edge of the road.

Looking upwards, she spotted the helicopter flying low and coming in fast and she smiled.

They would see this roadway with plenty of room to land and try to bring the Charger to a stop. Hiding under the bushes with the concealed bike, she watched as Michael's Charger came into sight with the helicopter flying in front of the muscle car, attempting to force the driver to give up.

Rising up, Fiona sighted on the chopper, aiming for the tail rotor and firing. It took two shots for her to do the damage she was looking for. Without that vital piece of equipment, its pilot would have no choice but to land and, with the relative instability of wet swamp land, there would be no good place to put the heavy machine that would support its weight.

Seconds later, the Charger flew past and Fiona was eternally grateful that Nate did as she asked and didn't try to stop and help. With one eye on where the chopper was coming down for a hard landing, she had the other eye on the four cars coming straight at her. Lowering the rifle, Fiona pulled out her phone and rapidly keyed in the number to detonate the bombs.

One, two, three, four explosions all went off one after another, sending the two lead vehicles across the road and onto their sides. The other two vehicles involved in the chase had managed to avoid the charges but in their efforts not to crash into their compatriots, they swerved hard and it wasn't enough to save them on the narrow road as both vehicles flew off the embankment and into the deep waters of the adjacent canal with a loud splash.

Bringing the rifle back up, Fiona opened fire again, sending bullets into the vehicles still on the road and driving back the occupants who had just climbed out of the wreckage.

_WHOOSH! BANG! _One of the cars exploded and ignited the one behind. _WHOOSH! BANG! _The second one blew up too, sending flames and burning metal out in all directions. Grinning from ear to ear, Fiona ran back to where she had left the motorbike.

_Now this was what she called fun. _Satisfied that nobody would be able to give chase, she climbed back on to the motorbike and roared away.

It took Fiona less than ten minutes to catch up to the Charger, being driven at a far more sedate speed now they were no longer being followed. As she came up alongside the sleek black vehicle, Fiona saw Madeline sitting stiffly inside, her hands gripping the seat as if her live depended on it.

Seeing the look of panic cross Nate's face, she lifted up the visor on the crash helmet so he could see her face and then gestured to stop at the public park at the end of the access road. There, amongst all the families having a picnic and the boaters, they could get a moment to talk privately.

As soon as Nate pulled up in a parking space, Madeline launched herself out of the door and pulled Fiona, who had just arrived at their side after parking the stolen motorbike, into a death grip of a hug. "What is going on? Where's Michael? Why isn't he here? Who were those people? How did -"

"Mom, breathe, please. Give Fi a chance," Nate interrupted his mother's flow and earned Fiona's gratitude when Madeline reluctantly let her go.

"Michael is off doing his spy thing," Fiona began to answer the list of questions. "I think those people were part of the group who is trying to bring Michael in." Fiona took a breath of her own and then made a point of looking about her at all the parked up vehicles. The area was too small to steal a vehicle with all the witnesses close by and ensure a clean exit.

"We need to get another car and get out of here in case they've got re-enforcements on the way. Weston..." and she grinned as she said the name of the nearest suburb with malls and parking lots aplenty. "Weston is the nearest place we can get a new ride. Let me drive." She held out her hand for the keys before taking over the driver's seat.

Faster than either of the Westens thought possible, they were pulling into the Westgate Square Shopping Center and Fiona was climbing out of the vehicle.

"Nate, you and your mom wait here, I'll -"

"All due respect, Fiona, if you're talking about, er, 'borrowing a car,' I'm the one for the job."

She saw an eager to please expression on his face and smiled back.

_Michael would have shot him down and ordered his younger brother to wait with their mother, but she wasn't Michael. She knew the value of teamwork._

"Go ahead, Nate. We'll get the bags out of the trunk while we wait."

Nate was back in less than ten minutes with an older model silver Toyota Corolla which would have pleased Michael no end. Plain, popular and nondescript, an ideal vehicle if you wanted to remain anonymous; Fiona hated it.

Keeping within the speed limits and obeying all the traffic signals, they reached Bayshore Drive and the Shell Resort Motel before nightfall. After booking in, Fiona took the Corolla and dumped it several miles away from where the Westens were going to be taking their unexpected vacation before walking back to join them for one night.

In the morning, she slipped out early and came back with breakfast for them all. Then, as they sat around a small round topped table, she explained what was going to happen.

"I don't know how long you're going to have to stay here... Hopefully it won't be too long," she added quickly before Madeline could interrupt. "I'm sure once Michael has spoken to _these_ people, everything will be fine." She tried to sound positive, but it was hard work. "I need you to make a list of everything you think you might need and I'll go and get it for you."

Of course, neither Madeline nor Nate wanted to stay in the motel room; it was small with the minimal amenities. But it was safe and completely anonymous, hidden amongst the hundreds of other identical businesses on the Fort Lauderdale sea shore.

Shortly after they all finished breakfast, Fiona headed out with a long list of what the Westens considered essentials. By lunchtime, she arrived back at the room to find it filled with a thick cloud of smoke and Nate already climbing the walls as Madeline sat smoking one cigarette after another as she watched her daytime soaps.

"You gotta tell her about the smoking, Fi. I'm gonna die of carbon monoxide poisoning if I have to stay here," Nate whined. Then he pointed to the ceiling. "She made me disarm the smoke detectors."

Rolling her eyes, Fiona took a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh. "Madeline, you can't-"

"I've been dragged out of my home and chased all over the state and I haven't complained once, Fiona." Mrs. Westen was not about to let the younger generation tell her what she could and couldn't do. "But I'm putting my foot down now. I'll smoke where I damn well please."

One glimpse into the older woman's piercing steely blue eyes and Fiona decided it really wasn't worth the effort to force the stubborn blond to go outside every time she wanted to soothe her nerves. Besides, she wasn't going to be here to enforce the rules.

Breaking Mrs. Westen's gaze, Ms. Glenanne sent Nate a look that said _'I'm sorry I tried.'_

And the younger Mr. Westen sent one back which said _'See what I have to put up with?'_

"Well…" Fiona checked the time on the wall clock. "I need to get back and try to find Michael or Sam so I can fill them in with what's happened. Stay here and don't use the phones until either Michael or I contact you. Don't draw any money from the ATMs. Here's all the cash I've got on me." She handed Nate several hundred dollars and one of her spare guns. "Just remember, stay out of sight."

Away from the smoky confines of the motel room, Fiona let out a long drawn out sigh and walked away. She was going to go back to Miami and see if she could find Sam and maybe wait a few days extra to see if Michael returned.

If he didn't, she already had an offer of employment. If she ever wanted to move on, Seymour Talbot, the crazy arms dealer she had only met a couple of weeks earlier, had asked her to join him on one of his trips to South America and now that she was unattached, she was seriously thinking about taking him up on his offer. Spending some time with somebody who knew how to mix business with pleasure would be a pleasant change, at least for a while.

Stealing a rather nice new model white Honda CR-V SUV, she drove sedately back down I-95 into Miami. The drive was boring, but thankfully it was also short and uneventful. In less than half an hour, she was pulling up in a parking spot outside her home on the Intracoastal. All the way back, she had begun to wonder what Michael was doing and how much her own actions yesterday had effected his efforts to find out why he was burned.

She was still struggling with his decision to abandon them all without a backward glance. And that brought up another problem. If he was gone for good, what was she or Sam supposed to do with his mother and brother? Sure, Nate could probably look after himself. But Madeline would just be a sitting duck every time his new friends wanted to blackmail him into doing something.

Getting out of her purloined vehicle, she collected her rifle bag from the trunk and strolled into her apartment. For now, she chose to push the fate of Nate and Madeline to the back of her mind. She was tired, hungry and in need of a bath after spending two days in the same clothes.

Leaving the rifle in its bag on the couch, she went through to her bathroom and started running the hot water. Then, while the bath filled, she did a quick check that everything was as secure as it had been when she had left three days ago before going to the fridge. Pulling out a bottle of white wine, she poured herself a large glass.

Ten minutes later, she was letting the hot water soak away all the tension built up from the last forty eight hours. Resting her head back, she sipped on her wine and let her eyes close. This was just what she needed was her last conscious thought as the nearly empty glass dropped from her hand and bounced on to the floor.

When she woke up, the water was cold and her skin wrinkled and prune like. Hurriedly getting out, she dried herself and got into her pajamas. She had a mild surprise that she had let the glass fall from her hand and then a stray thought about being lucky that it had hit the rug and not the tile floor as she headed towards the kitchen.

It was too late to go searching for Sam, though she had a good idea on how to find him. He was bound to be wrapped in the arms of Veronica, the very wealthy buxom blond he had taken up with recently. The thought of Sam and his lady friend entwined made her feel nauseous, so there was no way she was going to actively search him out just to tell him she had yet again saved the day.

Pouring a fresh glass of wine, she turned on the television and flicked through the channels until she found a documentary on the bomb disposal squads working in Afghanistan. She still felt unusually tired, but it was easy to explain away with all they had been through in the last couple of weeks. Curling up on her couch, she decided she would watch the documentary and then clean her rifle before going to bed.

The sound of her cell phone beeping loudly and bouncing its way across the dining table in the corner of the room woke Fiona with a start. Looking around totally confused, she realized she must have fallen asleep on the couch and slept through the night. Glancing at her watch, she scowled when she saw the time. It was already eleven am. She had slept straight through for at least fifteen hours.

Bleary eyed, she stared at her phone, reading the message.

"_Come over ASAP. I've got a job_." He was back. She froze for a moment, staring at the brutally short message.

"_Come over ASAP. I've got a job." _The anger began to build. _That was all he had to say to her? _

"_Come over ASAP. I've got a job."... Oh, she'd go over alright and, if she didn't like what he had to say, she would teach a lesson he wouldn't soon forget._

Leaving her phone on the table, she quickly made her way into her bedroom, unable to stop the beaming smile on her lips. _He was back..._

It didn't take long to have a quick shower and throw on a little pink and white tie dye summer dress. Twenty minutes after getting the message, Fiona was heading out of the door ready to do battle.

When she pulled up outside the metal gates, she could see him still dressed in his black special ops gear, attempting to hose away all the dust, dirt and plant life covering Sam's Cadillac. Staring at all the damage done to the vehicle, she was surprised Michael was still standing.

_Well, if she didn't like what he had to say, he wouldn't be standing much longer. _Slamming the Honda's door, she marched towards him, waving her cell phone at him.

"Hey, Fi."

Her eyes narrowed at his casual tone.

"I can't believe you, Michael." She watched his head drop. "Forty eight hours ago we said goodbye, possibly forever." The garden hose drooped in his hand and he let it fall to the ground. "And then I get a message from you on my cell that I should come right over because _you've_ _gotta job?_"

"Fi, there's a lot going on. So -"

_Oh, he is heading for a bloody nose if he keeps up this attitude._ Her anger flared and deep down she knew she was over reacting, but just can't stop herself.

"You couldn't start with I'm alive?" she demanded hotly.

Close up, she could see exactly how damaged the car was. The rear end was beaten up so badly there didn't look to be a single panel that wasn't going to need straightening out.

"I thought the fact I was calling you covered that."

_He really hadn't got a clue. Oh, but he was going to wish he had. Her fingers were already folding to make a fist._

"It's not the point," she scowled at him. "Do you have any idea what's gone on while you've been away? D'ya know I had to go an' rescue your mom and Nate? Whoever you've made a deal with to leave your family out of it aren't very trustworthy, Michael. Your mom was -"

"My mom being upset is going to be the least of our problems if I don't do this job, Fi," he cut her off, too busy wrapped up in his own problems to be concerned about what happened to the people he so blithely left behind.

She didn't even have to make the decision for her fist to fly; it went all on its own. But in her rage, she telegraphed the move and Michael easily blocked her attack and used her momentum to spin her around so he could hold her tight with her back firmly pressed into his chest.

"Fi, I called you because I need your help," he told her patiently, his warm breath tickling her neck and caused her anger to fade.

He smelt of sweat, gunpowder and explosives and she couldn't help pressing up against him. _He was back, which meant they had another chance. _She was just about to remonstrate him, remind that his family needed his help far more than any stranger.

"And as for the other..." He began to speak, but was cut off by the ringing of his phone and, when she turned in his arms, he drew away to answer the call

"Fi, please…"

With a final stroke of her hand down his chest, she backed away so he could take his call and she could inspect the damage done to Sam's pride and joy.

"Hey, mom, I'm fine. I told you not to make calls on that phone."

Fiona watched as Michael's expression went from pained to angry as his mother undoubtedly filled him in on what had occurred while he was gallivanting around with his _new friends_.

"Ma, I'm going to handle this. Where's Nate?" He listened intently now to the answer.

"He did what? No, no, I'm not mad." He paused, closing his eyes. "Okay, mom, you can just come on home... I – I can't come and get you, can you take a bus?"

The gist of Madeline's response was almost audible through the phone. "Yes, I'm fine, mom, really... Yes, Fi's here… Yeah mom, we're gonna talk all about it now... Okay, I'm gonna go now… Bye mom."

Slipping his phone into his pocket, he turned to Fiona. "A helicopter, Fiona, you shot down a helicopter? And you blew up four cars?"

She smiled at him, pleased to see he finally got how much danger his family had been put in. "I was preventing a kidnapping... Besides, you've shot down helicopters before. Why should you get to have all the fun?"

"Yeah, well, I think in saving my family, you put another one at risk." He gestured with a tilt of his head to the stairs. "Come and meet Jimmy."

Jimmy turned out to be a nervous looking computer programmer, who had come to the attention of Michael's new friend Carla because he had the skills to get her the information she needed from a group of mercenaries who were masquerading as security consultants.

"So they took my family because they couldn't take yours?" Jimmy accused after Fiona explained what had happened to the group assembled in the loft.

"It looks like it... I think they were transporting me to the airfield to stop you or my family would be killed and, when they couldn't do that, they did the next best thing and took your wife and kid."

"And you're still letting your mom come home?" Fiona commented.

"They don't need her now they've got Jimmy's family. We'll get them back, Jimmy, don't worry. They need me for other things and I'm not going to work for them if they can't keep their word."

Fiona opened her mouth to comment on his statement, but the look he threw her stilled her lips.

"Sam, why don't you take Jimmy and get a change of clothes? I think it's safe for us all to move around while we're doing what Carla wants."

"Yea, I was just thinking I needed to get out of these doll clothes, Mikey." Sam checked his watch and did some calculations. "Ronnie will be out at the manicurists right about now, so if we're quick, I should be able to slip in and out without her catching me, easy peasy. Come on, Jimmy, you can play look out for me."

As soon as they were alone, Fiona moved across the room, stopping directly in front of her lover. "You can't be serious about trusting this Carla? She promised to leave your family alone and then tried to kidnap them. Your mom coulda been killed, Michael."

"I don't really have much choice at the moment, Fi," he answered softly. "If we don't do what she wants, Jimmy's family is going to pay the price."

"And what happens once Jimmy is reunited with his family? What then, Michael? Who will they take next time they want to use you? Or maybe they'll just kill one of us to make a point."

"Fi…"

But she wasn't listening any more. Turning away, she took a step and was then brought back round by a strong hand gripping her arm.

"Fi, I need you with me on this."

She glared at him. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him no, not until he agreed to doing something about Carla was the next thing on his list of things to do. But one look into his deep blue eyes and she found herself agreeing to help.

"Fine," she glowered. "But afterwards we have a long talk."

He nodded, smiling happily now he had gotten his way. "So I need to get Jimmy to introduce me to this Ryder Stahl character. Do you think you can go scout out the building? It's at -"

"You stink, Michael." She almost laughed at his quizzical look. "No, I mean it, you're not going anywhere until you've had a shower and gotten changed." She ran her hand down his chest and made easy work of his belt buckle. _She had nearly lost him forever. This was something she needed..._

"I need a shower?" He raised an eyebrow and let her lead him across the large open space to the back corner where his compact bathroom was hidden behind a thin wooden door covered in flaking paint.

"Yes, a thorough wash down," she answered. Kicking the door shut, she grabbed the hem of his top and jerked it up so she could run her hands over his exposed torso. "Every. Single. _Inch_. Of. You."

**()()()()()**

Leaving the loft with a smile on both their faces, Fiona dropped Michael off outside of Carlitos and then continued to drive over to the business district. Security Associates, Ryder Stahl's business was set up on the second floor of a three story building. The reception had a large glass windows, which would give a clear view of that area. But she needed something which gave a view of Security Associates offices. Across the street, she saw a parking garage which would be ideal. After a quick scout, she discovered the roof top gave the best position to watch the second floor and it also gave a good spot to give covering fire if Michael had to come out hot.

"I couldn't spot any security outside the building and I've found the ideal spot to watch," she spoke into her cell phone.

"_That's great, Fi. We're going back to the loft so I can get changed while Sam teachs Jimmy his lines..."_

"Fine. I'll see you in an hour, Michael. Be careful."

There was no way she was going to do surveillance in her sun dress, especially not after what had happened the last time she had spent time with Sam Axe. An hour wasn't much time to get back to her place, get changed and back. But if she drove fast, she might just make it.

The white SUV wasn't the best vehicle to cut through traffic, but with her driving skills Fiona made it home in under fifteen minutes. Once she was inside, she quickly stripped off the dress and reached for the first pair of jeans she came across. Pulling them on, she stared down as she struggled to do the button up and then had to suck in her stomach to get the zipper all the way up.

She paused, but was too busy to think much about it, as she needed to get out of the door. She would put a loose fitting top on to hide how snug the jeans had become._ They must have shrunk when she washed them._

**()()()**

Sitting in a hot car with Sam Axe munching his way through some foul smelling greasy sandwich, Fiona fought down a rising bout of nausea.

"I can't believe, Michael, the way he just came back and expects us to drop everything to help him out," she pouted.

"You're being too hard on Mike. He damn near got himself killed saving me." Sam defended his best friend and took another huge bite of his meal.

"And I damn near got myself killed saving the both of you... And his mom... and Nate." She peered through a set of binoculars, wondering briefly why she could no longer see the man in question. "And then he comes back and it's like nothing happened."

"I'm just sayin'. I can count on one hand the number of buddies I've got who'd stage an armed assault to save my butt. Okay, you've got Mike, you've got -" He came to a stop when he obviously couldn't think of a single other person who would willing risk their life for him. "The point is -" He made his point by waving his sandwich out of the car window. "Mike is the kinda guy who's got your back -"

He was interrupted by the shout of "_GUN!_" coming from exit ramp behind them, followed instantly by a shot which took out the side mirror which had only been replaced a couple of hours earlier.

"What the hell is he doing?" Sam winced and ducked as the rear window disintegrated, sending a shower of glass into the caddy's back seat.

"I think we just got recruited into Michael's cover," she replied and drew her own gun as Sam, finally getting with the program, got the caddy engine started and slammed the vehicle into reverse as more shots came their way.

Leaning out of the window, she saw the smile on Michael's face as he casually fired a shot directly over her head. In answer, she playfully returned fire by sending a shot ricocheting off the ground in between his legs.

Before she could show off more of her superior skills, Sam got the car turned around and they went racing down the ramps and back into the street.

"Oh jeez," Sam looked at the damage done to his baby: a side mirror hanging off, enough bullets in the trunk to make it look like a sieve and the replacement rear window had nothing but a few pieces of splintered glass left in the frame and tiny shattered pieces all over the back seat. "I thought it was bad before... Next time, we use your car," he told the smirking red head who was admiring Michael's handiwork.

One finger traced a line of bullet holes, noting the skill and artistry that was displayed in firing that many shots and not doing any serious damage.

"Oh Sam," she smiled sweetly. "If I'd been driving, we wouldn't have sat there long enough for him to get off that many shots."

**()()()()**

Leaving Sam to drive his mangled vehicle back to the loft, Fiona climbed into her immaculate Honda and, from a new position, kept watch on Security Associates to make sure they didn't try to follow Sam as he drove away.

After a few minutes, she began to shift uncomfortably in her seat as the waistband of her jeans dug into her skin. _This was ridiculous; she had barely eaten anything over the last few days... Had the wine the night before made her bloated?_

Half an hour passed and there was no sign of anybody from Stahl's organization going out on the streets. But she knew that meant nothing as they hadn't spotted the mercenaries creeping up on them on the parking garage. If it hadn't been for Michael's warning shout... _That was something that shouldn't have happened. What was the matter with her? Normally she would never let a group get the drop on her like that._ She looked at herself in the rear view mirror. _Maybe she was just a bit run down. Too many nights without any sleep and eating at irregular hours._

Feeling her phone vibrating in her pocket, she answered it. "Michael."

"Fi, I'm gonna have to go back inside Security Associates. I need to look at their vault. Can you hang on a bit longer?"

"Not a problem, Michael. But why go back and risk -"

"Carla called while I was at my mom's. She left the Charger there and - and she put Jimmy's little girl on the line... Please, Fi."

"I said I'd do it, Michael, and unlike some people I always keep my word."

With the call ended, she sat back with a huff. _They should be out looking for Carla, or at least discussing how they were going to draw the bitch out, so they could teach her a lesson about kidnapping children._

She stayed while Michael went back inside to try to make friends with Ryder Stahl and she waited patiently until after he came out and drove away in the Charger. Then, instead of following him back to the loft to find out exactly what was going on, she decided to go home and change into another outfit. Normally, she had trouble getting clothes to fit her slender frame and the jeans she was wearing were not new. _So why did they make her feel like she had gone up a whole dress size?_

Once she was home, she tried on a couple of different outfits and then studied her body in the long mirror attached to her wardrobe door. She looked the same as normal. Twisting and turning she thought maybe, if she was being critical, she had put on a few pounds. Slipping into a long sleeved brown and white dress that skimmed her hips and breasts, she studied her profile one more time. At least this dress fit nicely.

When she arrived at the loft, she could hear Sam's voice as he sat out on the balcony. It sounded like he was trying to teach Jimmy to play a complicated card game he had once tried to teach her.

If Sam was out on the balcony, that had to mean Michael was inside on his own. Smiling happily, she made her way up the steps and entered without bothering to knock. He was leaning over the work bench his forehead wrinkled as he concentrated on a drawing.

"Figuring out a time when we can have our conversation?" she called out as she slinked across the space between them.

Pleased to see his gaze following her progress across the room, she slid past him letting one hand trail lightly over his back as she went to the fridge. Leaning forward, giving him the chance to admire her behind, she studied the contents of the fridge for a moment before claiming the last blueberry yogurt.

Pulling the lid off the cup, she turned to face him and licked the lid clean before throwing it into the waste bin.

"Fi, I'm planning a heist, erm – c-c-can y-you just, I mean, I gotta do the job first."

_He was rattled; that was good..._

"Do the job first, right." She sighed heavily and began to spoon the soft, creamy goodness into her mouth. "So, what can _I_ do for the job?"

"I need you to get us into IsoGene Labs. It's a DNA testing facility one floor above Security Associates. I need to get in there for an hour, at night, alone and we're gonna be making a lotta noise."

Fiona twirled her tongue around the spoon, licking away the last vestiges of the yogurt. She was normally partial to peach, but for some reason the blueberry one she had just finished off had been delicious. "You have a high estimation of my skills, Michael."

"You've earned every bit of it, Fi," he replied and she couldn't help smiling at the husky tone in his voice, or the way his eyes were stripping her bare.

Dropping the yogurt cup and spoon into the sink, she slipped past him stopping only to give him a light kiss on the cheek. "I'll call when I've done the job, Michael. And just remember I want that talk afterwards."

**()()()()()**

Standing in the elevator, waiting for it to reach the third floor, Fiona eased her hand around the waistband of the skin tight white pants she had on. Sighing, she glanced into the mirror which covered the upper part of three of the walls. The matching top was just as tight and the buttons of the fitted shirt wouldn't have done up even if she had wanted to fasten them. As it was, her green lacy bra was barely containing her very perky breasts.

As the lift doors opened, she held a clip board in front of her covering her very much exposed assets and stepped out into IsoGene Laboratories reception. Settling into character, she plastered a big flirty smile on her face and sashayed over to the desk.

It took her all of five minutes to convince Clive the receptionist to let a building contractor into the labs over night. A little bit of flirting and a few suggestive looks and she had him eating out of hand. He even promised to call the building security immediately so she wouldn't get into trouble.

Pleased with herself, all she could think of as she stepped back into the elevator was how good that last blueberry yogurt had tasted. She could still taste it on her lips. Letting out a long sigh, Fiona frowned as another button came undone on her shirt and, right there and then, she had a revelation.

_No. Ah huh... It's impossible... I had a jab._

She ran her hands over her still flat belly and at that moment the doors opened. Wide eyed and on the verge of panic, she walked purposefully out of the building and into the street.

_She had of course heard all the stories about contraception failing, but it had never failed on her before and, really at her age... _She shook her head_. No, it was impossible. She would prove it, if only to get rid of any lingering doubts._

Reaching her car she drove away, taking her time to make sure nobody was tailing her. She eventually came to a stop in the parking lot of the Target superstore on South Dixie. Inside she walked down the various aisles, passing by the rows of pregnancy tests three times before she got the nerve to stop and study the various types they had to offer. Finally, she picked up two different ones so she could double check the results to be sure.

She was on her way to pay when she came to a stop and back tracked past the contraceptives and other medicines and down to where the dairy products were displayed. Searching along the rows, she eventually found what she was looking for Brennan's blueberry flavored yogurts.

It was while she was waiting in line to pay that her cell began to ring. It was Michael.

"Michael...Sorry I got distracted. You're ready to go. The guy on the desk, I had him -"

"Fi, Fiona... Carla has kidnapped Nate."

She froze. "What?"

"I was talking with Jimmy and I spotted this guy watching us. When I chased him down, he had an envelope on him. It had two pictures inside, one of Jimmy's family and one of Nate... Then Carla called to tell me they were getting impatient and I'd better get on with the job... They picked him up at the airport, Fi. He was waiting to board a flight to Las Vegas."

She could hear the anguish in his voice and it broke her heart and at the same time filled her with a rage. _Nobody hurt her friends or family and lived to tell of it._

She paid for her yogurts and pregnancy tests as she continued to talk. "What can I do, Michael? What do you want me to do?"

"I need you with Sam tonight, and, Fi, I think you were right about what you said earlier.. I need to see you - after the job."

"I'll be there, Michael." He hung up on her and she stared at her phone in shock.

This was going to be a harder night than she thought.


End file.
